121

Lise's mother opened the door; it creaked again. But Lise hadn't woken. Quiet she crossed the carpet to plug the telephone lead into the wall-socket; quiet she sat down on the carpet, leaned against the wall and watched her daughter, the fearless child Lise, the imperturbable twelve-year-old, unreadable sixteen-year-old, unruffleable girl, impenetrable adult, Lise. Lise lay in the bed. She was pale, crumpled, frowning, dark, sleeping. She breathed unevenly.