“No,” snapped Mrs Elm. “Don’t touch them. Put them down.”
“Sorry.” “And stop saying sorry. Now, you can help me with this. This is safer.”
She helped Mrs Elm pick up the chess pieces and set up the board for a new game, putting the table back in place too.
“What about all the books on the floor? Are we just going to leave them?”
“Why do you care? I thought you wanted them to disappear completely?”
Mrs Elm may well have just been a mechanism that existed in order to simplify the intricate complexity of the quantum universe,
but right now – sitting down between the half-empty bookshelves near her chessboard, set up for a new game –
she looked sad and wise and infinitely human. “I didn’t mean to be so harsh,” Mrs Elm managed, eventually.
“That’s okay.” “I remember when we started playing chess in the school library, you used to lose your best players straight away,” she said.
“You’d go and get the queen or the rooks right out there, and they’d be gone.
And then you would act like the game was lost because you were just left with pawns and a knight or two.” “Why are you mentioning this now?”
Mrs Elm saw a loose thread on her cardigan and tucked it inside her sleeve, then decided against it and let it loose again.
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