A cloud of boredom closes around me. I feel bad about it. Freda's monotonous voice goes on and on. All about her 'agoraphobia'. I try to hear what is being said 'beneath' and 'between', as well as 'in'
and 'by' the words. I try hard. I strive to focus my attention on a verbose, repetitive, and seemingly interminable catalogue of panic attacks, palpitations, sweating, fears of fainting, and the dubious effects of tranquillizers.