AQA GCSE · Question 01 · Explorations in Creative Reading and Writing

SOURCE TEXT:
Mary felt the stillness first, a heavy blanket smothering the morning's potential. She had been in this parched land for six months, and the silence of the heat was now a familiar foe. Her skin, once pale and soft, was perpetually tight, a size too small for her bones. She longed for the damp chill of an English winter, for the sight of rain on a windowpane, for anything other than this relentless, glaring sun that bleached the very colour from her thoughts.
As time passed, the heat became an obsession. Outside, there was a rough heap of giant boulders, and she would watch the heat-waves beat up out of the hot stone, where the heat lizards, vivid red and blue and emerald, darted over the rocks like flames. Inside, she could not bear the sapping, undermining waves that beat down from the iron roof. Even the usually active dogs used to lie all day on the verandah. Mary could hear them panting softly, or whining with exasperation because of the flies. She would lock them out of the house, and in the middle of the morning she would tell a worker to carry a petrol tin full of lukewarm water into the bedroom, and, having made sure he was out of the house, she stood in a basin on the brick floor, pouring it over her. The scattering drops fell on the porous brick, which hissed with dryness.
It was this small ritual that Dick found so infuriating. He came in from the fields that afternoon, his face a mask of dust and fury, kicking the door shut behind him. "Wasting water again, Mary?" he snapped, his voice raw. "Do you have any idea how precious that is out here?" She flinched, clutching the damp towel to her chest. "It was just a little," she whispered, her voice barely audible. "I couldn't bear it." His eyes, narrowed against the sun, were cold. "You can't bear it? What about me, out there since dawn? What about the crops? You sit in here, playing with water, while everything we have turns to dust." He gestured wildly at the cracked earth visible through the window. "You're weak. You don't belong here." The words struck her harder than a physical blow. She was powerless, a wilting flower in his desert, and his anger was the scorching wind that threatened to tear her petals from their stem. He saw her silence not as shock, but as defiance, and his frustration mounted. "Say something!" he roared, but she had no words left.

QUESTIONS:
Read again the first part of the source from lines 1 to 6.

List four things about Mary from this part of the source.