“The warmth of that voice suggests a summer night somewhere high in between the steps of a lonely woman . . .” thought Miss Hatshepsut. She said, “Size 8 is up there on the shelf,” and she slid the ladder across. As she climbed up, she felt his eyes on her. She kept his eyes on the same place, round the thighs, and when she descended, she shoved the ladder aside with her leg and in so doing knocked his little gold box off the table and onto the armchair. Now the box was separated from the visitor’s raincoat. She hoped the young man would fail to notice that the box was missing and would think he had left it in the store.

But then he said something so unexpected that she left the ladder where it was and stared into his eyes. It was as if he were gazing through water and through several thousand years straight at her. And his eyes were blue from the distance of time through which he was looking at her.

“Perhaps my request may seem exaggerated,” he said, “but I don’t know how to buy women’s nightdresses. Do you think you could put it on? Then I’d know whether it fits or not. My wife is about the same build as you . . .”

If it had not been for the little box on the armrest, Miss Hatshepsut would have turned him down flat. As it was, she answered, “You’re not the first person to ask me that. I’ll just put it on in the cubicle and you’ll be able to see how it looks. Let me move this ladder out of the way first.”