For our task of reintegration we are to bond while undressing a mannequin, trying not to appear disappointed. The pigtail kid insists that her bicycle is helpful and good for morale. “It will pass the time more quickly,” she says. I start on the 39 buttons and am struck by the thought of a carnation, ‘how green; how edible,’ but I do not share it.

“Your glasses are steaming up,” says the pigtail kid, whose name I now remember is Lucy, “and you’re not even wearing glasses.” It is possible she is sweet on me, but I don’t know if I could ever love her. “Anyway, you’re married,” I say.

Lucy ignores me: “Can you keep the noise down please, I’m trying to concentrate.” Her bicycle hums figures of eight, increasingly leanly. You couldn’t put a hair between Lucy and the mannequin.