“How are you getting on?”
“I’m not getting on.”
“The colours seem to have got on your fingers.”
“They’re all sticky. I oughtn’t to lick them, ought I?”
“No. Try a rag.”
“I’ll go and wash in the gold-fish basin. The gold-fish won’t mind.”
She ran off into the Japanese garden, reappeared, borrowed one of Eve’s clean rags, and stood watching the expert’s brush laying on colours.
“You do do it beautifully.”
“Well, you see, I have done it for years.”
Lynette meditated.