‘I’m sorry,“ I s so used to one’s oo other people.“

    I sat do the edge of my vision receded.

    Miss inter closed o  and dreed fist back into ective gesture s.

    ‘I’m sorry you didn’t  to  story, Miss Lea.“

    ‘I’ll  anotime.“

    Our interview was over.

    On my o my quarters I t of tter s me. trained and painstaking  I  it doo illness. Artis perood. From t book and tire career, Miss inter ten erpieces  hand.

    In my study t curtains ermark tin covered te t  c stood under tc t  o start a ne  took from my bag o t t directly underneath.

    On impulse I climbed onto te valance to tain pole. My fingers groped for tops of tains, and I felt for titc attac erlined, and t, flung over my s after a fees, first one tain ood in ter of t of my work.

    ter of it, my g, darkly transparent, aring in at me.  unlike my oline of a desk on ttoned armc cast by a standard lamp. But he.

    togettle ritual of preparing our desks. e divided a ream of paper into smaller piles and flicked to let turning tco t pencil o a fine point,  put it do kept .

    ‘to her. ”Ready for work.“

    So speak to me. I couldn’t  she was saying.

    I ervieed dos of keye up our intervieely aftero jog my memory. And from t first meeting, it  my notebook from time to time, I filled ter of my ss of foolscap er’s  aking dictation from ter in my head.

    I left -ed any mannerisms, expressions and gestures t seemed to add someto her meaning.

    t- blank. Lat