“Thank you, Dr. Murray.”

He nodded and returned to the copy he was editing.

For an hour or so, the rustle of work was only disturbed by the men removing their jackets and loosening their ties. The Scriptorium moaned when the sun found its iron roof. Mr. Sweatman opened the door to let in a breeze, but there was no breeze to be had.

I read a letter asking why Jew had been split across two fascicles. Splitting a word across two publications had been the focus of more than one argument between Dr. Murray and the Press Delegates. It was a question of revenue the Delegates had insisted, when Dr. Murray informed them there would be a delay in the next fascicle—variants of Jew required more detailed research, he said. Publish what you’ve got, he was told.

It took six months before Jew was reconciled, and every week he received at least three letters from the public asking him to explain. I drafted a reply that suggested the requirements of printing insisted on certain page numbers for each fascicle and that the English language could not be edited to fit such limitations. There were times when a word would need to be split, but the meanings of Jew would be reunited when the next volume, H to K, was published.

I read what I had written, and was pleased. I looked up to where Dr. Murray sat and wondered if I should ask him to review it before I sealed the envelope and attached a stamp.

Dr. Murray would be having lunch at Christ Church and was already in academic dress, sitting at his high desk facing the sorting table. His mortarboard was firmly in place; his gown was like the great black wings of a mythical bird. From my corner at the back, he looked like a judge presiding over a jury.

Just as I was gathering the courage to approach the bench and ask for my work to be reviewed, Dr. Murray pushed back his chair. It scraped across the floorboards in a way that would attract reproach if anyone else had done it. The men all looked up and saw the Editor begin to fume.

Dr. Murray had a letter in his hand. His head moved from side to side, a slow denial of whatever he had read. The Scriptorium fell silent. Dr. Murray turned and pulled A and B from the shelf.

I felt the thump of it landing on the sorting table like a blow to my chest.