Then, a change. Random strokes replace words. Gradually, eyes, face, hands take shape. Black, rising high above narrow shoulders of a half smiling girl with knowing eyes. Beneath the sketch, rough scrawl of the same name.
Lips move in silent question.
The sketch does not answer. Hands, crumpling paper in sudden violence. I told you, yes. Unspoken question hangs waiting. The sooner the vial is filled, the better.