in, s? Sit do.”

    And after a minute of silence shis.

    ‘Picture a conveyor belt, a , and at t a massive furnace. And on t are books. Every copy in tte. te.“

    “Middlemarch, ” I supplied.

    ‘t t t to it is a  to turn it on. And you can stop it. You o do is pull trigger.  do you do?“

    ‘No, t’s silly.“

    ‘urns to On. t arted.“

    ‘But it’s too extreme, it’s ical.“

    ‘First of all, She edge.“

    ‘I don’t like games like this.“

    ‘Noarts to go up in flames.“

    I sighed and closed my eyes.

    ‘uts coming up. Going to let t burn, are you?“

    I couldn’t eady process to the furnace, and flinched.

    ‘Suit yourself. In it goes. Same for Jane Eyre?“

    Jane Eyre. I hed.

    ‘All you o do is s. I  tell. No one need ever knoarted to fall. Just t fe t of copies. You  to make up your mind.“

    I rubbed my t a rough edge of nail on my middle finger.

    ‘ter now.“

    S remove her gaze from me.

    ‘. All of Jane Eyre will soon hink.“

    Miss inter blinked.

    ‘t one person, Margaret. Just one tiny, insignificant little person.“

    I blinked.

    ‘Still time, but only just. Remember, to live?“

    Blink. Blink.

    ‘Last chance.“

    Blink. Blink. Blink.

    Jane Eyre was no more.

    “Margaret!” Miss inter’s face ted in vexation as s   t  ched in her lap.

    Later, , I t it  spontaneous expression of feeling I er. It  of feeling to invest in a mere game.

    And my oe