The girl stood by the window, thinking, When will this ever end? It will never end. When will this ever end?

She had both arms propped on the windowsill, which wasn’t allowed – but for one instant, for one tiny, stolen instant, she was alone. The others would be arriving any minute now; it was your back that sensed them first of all, as it was nearest the door; there would be an expectant tickling in your back. And when the others arrive, that’s it. Because then she’ll be there too.

The little girl shuddered: it was like the slight, sudden movement of a dog shaking itself dry. She didn’t even have to think about the things that were oppressing her. She was surrounded by sorrows, sitting on one lotus-leaf among many, with the others all watching her – the girl in the middle. And she knew all the lotus-leaves of her sorrows.

The other children – her nickname ‘the child’ – this children’s home in Sweden – her dead brother Will – and now the needle of her fear shot up into the boiling red area: Frau Adriani, Frau Adriani with the red hair – and behind her the saddest thing of all, Mummy in Zurich. It was too much. She was nine years old – it was too much for nine. And she cried the bitterest tears that a child can cry: suppressed tears that no one can hear.

The patter and scrape of feet. Doors shutting and opening. Not a word: a silent host was approaching. She was there too. Oh God! Oh God!

The door opened majestically, as though of its own accord. In the doorway stood the Director, ‘the Limb of Satan’: Frau Adriani. Her nickname came from her own favourite term of invective.

She wasn’t very tall: a squat, thick-set figure, with reddish hair, greyish-green eyes and almost invisible eyebrows. She spoke rapidly and had a way of looking at people that did them no good at all . . .

‘What are you doing here?’ The child cringed. ‘What are you up to?’ She went up to the girl and gave her a cuff on the head – it wasn’t a proper smack; it was a blow that didn’t acknowledge that there was a head there: it dealt with whatever material was available. Which happened to be a head.

‘I was . . . I . . . I’m er . . .’

‘You’re a limb of Satan!’ said Frau Adriani. ‘Mooning around up here, while there’s a gym lesson downstairs! No supper for you. Join the rest!’ The child crept off to join the others; proudly and with a show of contempt they made room for her.