She looks around, almost too tired to sit. If she sits, she might not get up. This is not a good place to sleep. The room seems almost monkishly tranquil. The large double-glazed picture window looks down into coastal gorge. When the storms come in it must be spectacular. A single chair faces outward, a side table stacked with books. For a moment she wonders whether she will see a copy of Mr. Murder Investigates perched on top of the pile, but glancing at the spine finds a copy of the Thousand and One Nights . In fact, all the books are historical, and all are early editions. She tries to commit the names to memory, wondering if she can.