The packet was too large for the slot marked letters. The catalogue clerk had stood it behind the sorting tray, where one corner had bent against the wall.
I recognized the household seal before she found my name.
My hand had already moved toward it. I let it fall to the edge of the counter instead.
The clerk was looking at the smaller envelopes in her tray. There was no reason for her to know which piece of correspondence had brought me here, and I did not want to lean over her work to point. I gave my name again when she asked for it. This time she turned the packet so the address faced her.
It was an ordinary thing to receive. Other students collected letters while I stood there; one tucked an envelope under his belt before he had finished thanking her. I had brought the stiff sheets in my satchel so I could carry the answer without creasing it. Until I saw the seal, that had felt like adequate preparation.
