she sits on the deep rust red leather Chesterfield sofa in the quiet private library lounge, surrounded by floor-to-ceiling bookshelves, typing a message while the green-shaded reading lamps cast a warm glow over her copper-red hair. Nine years, miláčku, and I still remember what you said the night before you left. I read your message about the exhibition twice. I have decided to stop keeping my feelings in a glass case, so tell me, shall we talk tonight?