Nevertheless, she was encouraged because she would stick up no more fragments of print, offering unassimilable information. She stood in the middle of the big room, telling herself to strip the walls. But she was unable to. She was again moving from point to point, around the room, matching statement with statement, one set of words with another.

While she was doing this, the telephone rang. It was a friend of Molly’s. An American left-winger needed a room for a few days. Anna joked that if he was an American he would be writing an epic novel, be in psycho-analysis, and in the process of divorcing his second wife; but said he could have a room. He telephoned later to say he would be over that afternoon at five. Anna dressed to receive him, realizing that she had not dressed, except to go out and buy odd bits of food and drawingpins, for several weeks. Just before five he telephoned again to say he couldn’t come, he had to see his agent. Anna was struck by the careful detail he put into his account of the appointment with the agent. A few minutes later Molly’s friend rang again to say that Milt (the American) was coming over to a party at her place, and would Anna like to come too? Anna was annoyed, shrugged off the annoyance; refused the invitation; put on her dressing-gown again, and returned to the floor, surrounded by newspapers.

Late that night the bell rang. Anna opened the door, saw the American. He apologized for not telephoning; she apologized for not being dressed.

He was young, about thirty, she judged; with close young brown hair, like healthy fur, a lean intelligent face, bespectacled. He was the shrewd, competent, intelligent American. She knew him well, ‘naming’ him a hundred times more sophisticated than his English equivalent, by which she meant that he was the inhabitant of a country of desperation still uncharted by Europe.

He began to apologize, as they climbed the stairs, for going to his agent; but she interrupted by asking if he had enjoyed the party. He gave an abrupt laugh, and said: ‘Well, you’ve caught me out.’ ‘You could always have said that you wanted to go to a party,’ she said.

They were in the kitchen, examining each other, smiling. Anna was thinking: A woman without a man cannot meet a man, any man, of any age, without thinking, even if it’s for a half-second, Perhaps this is the man. That’s the reason I was annoyed because he lied about the party. How boring it all is, these ever-so-expected emotions.

She said: ‘Would you like to see the room?’

He stood with his hand on the back of a yellow-painted kitchen chair, supporting himself because he had had too much to drink at the party, and said: ‘Yes, I would.’