I finising up t day’s notes. All dozen pencils  noed to turn times get to t and dangle in a single drop all to t tonigired, and t breaking under t.

    I t about tory. I o tor and  of motives, but I suspected tervention in to no good.

    t ot of t t speak properly; t understand ot t I didn’t kno toryteller t. In telling ale, Miss inter  t illuminates everyt itself. S at t of tive. Sly s perplexed me  be t o distance ory in this way?

    If I o ask  it, I kne one or tails of tory, and time to time s  to, s meeting. “No cing. No looking aions.”

    I reconciled myself to remaining curious for a long time, and yet, as it  very evening t cast a certain illumination on tter.

    I idied my desk and ting about my packing  to find Judithe corridor.

    ‘Miss inter o see .“

    te translation of a more abrupt Fetc.

    I finis doo the library.

    Miss inter ed in ion and t othe room was in darkness.

    ‘ould you like me to put some lighe doorway.

    ‘No.“ antly to my ears, and so I oers ars, ed in the mirrors.

    from t Miss inter racted. In silence I sat in my place, lulled by taring into t sky reflected in ter of an ed, and I ed.

    then she spoke.

    ‘ picture of Dickens in udy? It’s by a man called Buss, I believe. I’ve a reproduction of it some for you. Anyure, . ers from ing in ted beed do on t? ted er  be as real as  are sketc  of a line o a gly nothingness.

    ‘ure no be  so  it seems to be an image of tudy door on t my