We made double time down the left-hand corridor, perhaps to make up for our unscheduled stop. With each step Mrs Bancroft’s breasts jiggled under the thin material of the leotard and I took a morose interest in the art on the other side of the corridor. More Empathist work, Angin Chandra with her slender hand resting on a thrusting phallus of a rocket. Not much help.
