On the fourth afternoon, Larissa was looking out towards the west. There she spotted a figure, pulling a string of mules, shapeless and almost indisti...ct against the grey, white and black of the forest. Her heart leapt as she recognised his loping stride. From the farmhouse she tracked him as he worked his way down the ridge and across the fields. Behind him lay a trail of footprints in the thick carpet of snow. Tomorrow, she thought, his prints will have gone, and soon he will have gone. Or they could buy "off-the-rack", living their lives in a succession of "used" sleeves from various sources - people who had elected to move on into VR, convicted criminals, or the desperate, who rented or sold their sleeves to the highest bidder - and once in a while, a designer sleeve that had been discarded by its previous owner, for one reason or another. Used sleeves were much more affordable, and even most regular, middle-class people could afford one of these every twenty to thirty years. More

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