The kitchen smelled of toast and the radiator was knocking.
Nyra had her exercise book open at the table with her chin about four inches off the page, wings out and folded loose over the back of the chair, horn up through her hair. There was a pencil behind her ear and another one in her fist and a third one, James noticed, on the floor under her seat.
Alice had the chair by the window.
Nobody had given it to her. Nobody had said anything about it. She had sat in it on the second morning, and then the third, and it had been about four weeks now and James had stopped noticing until this second, when his mother came across with the pan and stopped.
"Wing."
Alice looked at her.
It was a good three-quarters of a second, and there was a whole conversation in it, and James kept his eyes on his tea.
Then Alice moved the wing.
His mother went past to the hob without a word and put two rashers on Nyra's plate.
---
"James."
"Mm."
"*James.* Which one's the verb."
