Robinson woke Sylvia up with a start. God, what now? Could she not have five minutes to herself, damn it? She winced at the renewed pounding on the front door, and tripped up over a stack of newspapers. A gleeful Peggy had dropped them round yesterday with her usual dire predictions of how this was all going to go sour, and how could she, and Harry, would not wait forever, and blah de blah de blah.. "I know she's in there, probably hiding again, the poor dear. This front door has seen more activity than Piccadilly Circus lately. Everyone wants a piece of her it seems. But I'm sure she'll be pleased to see you. Woohoo, Sylvia, your friend is here, and I've got a parcel for you, too." "Okay, already, I'm coming. No need to bash my door in." Sylvia stopped in the hallway, ran her fingers through her hair in a vain effort to make herself more presentable, and grimaced at the bags under her eyes, testament to how little sleep she'd had lately.
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