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For I have felynge in nothing
But as yt were a mased thyng,
Alway in poynt to falle a-doun;
For sorwful ymagynacioun
Ys always hooly in my mynde

hard to believe that she’ll ring up and shop you. More likely, perhaps, to run into one of your own students behind the counter or up on the stage, earning tuition fees.

“Wow. Teaching. That sounds good.” Her voice is a nice one, normal and unaffected. You were afraid it might be coarse or strongly accented, thus destroying the sculptor’s perfection of her image. Of course, seated thus she looks like any other girl – for that matter she exposes not much more than any other girl in a bikini.

“Well, maybe. Have you been an exotic dancer long?”

She frowns. The tone of the meeting freezes a little.

“I’m sorry. I’m not trying to get you to talk about anything that you don’t want to discuss, it’s just that you seem a nice person, and I’d like to talk to you for a bit.”

“Did you like my dancing?”

“Well, yes, I did, very much. You’re awfully good at some of those gymnastic things you do – leaning over backwards and so on.”

“Do you think I look good?”

“I think you’re the most beautiful girl I’ve ever seen.”

“Do you have a light?”

“I’m sorry. I don’t smoke.”

But you go and get a light from the girl behind the bar. When you return the blonde has disappeared.

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