He adjusted the quill in my hand.  “Centre it, like this.  Oui, comme ça.” He was determined. “Like this, see.”  He turned the quill again. After a week, he said, “You have made progress.” I looked up from what I was doing and pulled a face. “You think you haven’t?” He slapped his hands on his legs.  “Oh, what a look!  Have you nothing to say?  Talk to me, Helena!  You do not need permission.  I like it when you talk.” I put down the quill and held my hands in my lap.  I would have talked, but my words