His red hair marked him, cut short into a round shape that had the texture of a Brillo pad. He called to the other attendant, who held the torch. Yes—as he would have liked. I am carrying back a hundred new books and forty new records for the piano-player. Never again to be alone! To fit herself into this man's life as a hand into a glove; to use all her skill to force him into the position of depending upon her utterly; to be the spark to the divine fire! He should have his book, even if it had to be written with her heart's blood. One is always familiar with the business of one’s neighbours.
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