Miss Zahra lifted his arm. She tapped his elbow and passed her soft fingers along his bulging, blue veins. Then she bent over …

“Ouch!” cried Mr. N. “What sharp teeth you have! The better, I suppose, to nibble through these veins of mine that you seem to love so much.”

She apologized and pressed the spot where she’d hurt him. The pain vanished. Miss Zahra then returned to the table and gathered up her things, casting a quick glance over the papers lying there.

“I’m so happy you’ve gone back to writing,” she said. “I’m dying to read what you’re working on.”

“Where are you going?” Mr. N asked, hurrying after her. “Aren’t you going to stay with me any longer?”

With a laugh, Miss Zahra raised her eyes to the ceiling in the customary gesture of refusal. Then she slipped out, closing the door behind her with the same gentleness she had shown upon entering. As she left, Mr. N glimpsed a small hole in her nylons. The run started underneath her foot and stopped at her anklebone. If only she put a drop of clear nail polish on it, he thought, it would stay where it was and not threaten to sneak farther up. That’s what Mary would do, who was so unlucky with her nylons, as she put it; Mary with her rough hands, scraped raw by housework for Mrs. Thurayya and her family.