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(excerpt from The Jewel)
The stacks of envelopes were
growing taller. Some years ago Greta would have arranged them
neatly against the walls: all edges straight, perfectly vertical,
all aligned like monuments to human creative endeavour. They
would have given the room, a basement with windows high-up only
on the west wall, an air of professional decor. Now, she didn't
bother any more. There simply was no more time. The stacks took
care of themselves, seemingly doing their best to maintain a
precarious stability by propping themselves up, one against the
other, haphazard, just short of toppling down in an avalanche
of loose sheets.
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