Lost button

He looked all through the button drawer, but while it seemed that every shape and size and colour and finish could be found there, none of them were close to matching. He brushed a finger over the torn threads that tendriled from his coat. Then he heard that tobacco-torn voice at his shoulder, as her hand reached in and took out something bright and pearlescent: "You'll never match the old, you daft thing. And why bother if you could? Look for something new and beautiful."