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

        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 uand ot t I didn’t kno toryteller t. In telling ale, Miss i 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 g. No looking aions.”

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

        I idied my desk and ting about my pag    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 Dis in udy? It’s by a man called Buss, I believe. I’ve a reprodu 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 myself aion. For nearly sixty years I y o. I o s and bats. I o follos of quills as te love letters, rains ransported me across sea and sand; turies and tis    my bidding. I y and y of t so lo t    my breatheir dreams.

        ‘My study ters ing to be ten. Imaginary people, anxious for a life,    my sleeve, g, ’Me ! Go on! My turn!‘ I o select. And once I    for ten montil I e to tory, and tarts up again.

        ‘And every so often, ting years, I ed my    ter, or in t pause for t after a deatimes just searc eady green-eyed gaze. I knoly o see ime so cat so speak to me, but for decades soo far ao be    my gaze and pretend I    seen , I taken in.

        ‘People ’s because of arted a nees after finis, it is because to look up from my desk ing her eye.

        ‘tly ting in tudy    I tele in my tention    t nearer ing.

        ‘t of my final book. I e t sentence, placed t full stop. I kne ’s just t. ’It old    oo long ago, I en.‘ tions.

        ‘’But I    fotten,‘ sable w. I do remember.“

        t vibration in till. I turned from my stargazing to Miss inter. aring at a spot in t t very moment seeing the copper hair.

        ‘the girl is you.“

        ‘Me?“ Miss inter’s eyes turned slo . ”No, s me. Sated. ”So be. t g a long, long time ago.

        o a of thing.“

        ‘But your career… tories…“

        ‘s. It fills a void.“

        t in silend cime to time Miss inter rubbed absently at her palm.

        ‘Your essay on Jules and Edmond Landier,“ ser a time.

        I turned relutly to her.

        ‘ made you ust icular i? Some personal attra?“

        I shing special, no.”

        And t tillness of tars and the fire.

        It must er, w sime.

        ‘Margaret.“ I believe it    time s name. ”omorrow…“

        ‘Yes?“

        ‘You    you?“

        It    ell rembling in    of fatigue or illness, but it seemed to me, in t before I ans Miss inter was afraid.

        t m Maurice drove me to tation and I took train south.
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