William Bereza on Unsplash

The red-headed writer (aka la Raconteuse) had heard the noise outside the room, and a moment later the tall, thin man had opened the door, she grinned happily – such a good friend, although he seemed rather keen to make the move to another part of that room.

The tall, thin man suggested that she should sit down near that rather splendid yet small black marble fireplace, she concurred since she felt no qualms, in fact she was rather glad to sit there and start an interesting conversation.

La Raconteuse related so many wonderful things in those shelves as she wittered and wittered on, she took a breath, and then she said: ‘we do like to talk don’t we… we’re both able to make many quick quips and clever remarks, and even witticisms and retorts, yes?’

But the tall, thin man had been thinking other things by now, as he thought about options, and particularly on those excellent shelves – all those clockwork machines and stuff… more than useful, he thought.

Now, the red-headed writer suddenly stopped talking… at least for a moment: ‘oh gosh, sorry, I’ve been rabbiting on, as usual, you said something about options, you mean we would put some of those things down by the bar and the walls, would that be fine?’

The two of them glanced around the room, ‘sounds like a plan,’ she said, ‘I bet loads of people would want to see them, in fact, they might even be a queue around the block!’

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