Three years of evenings, and the chain has become a clock.
The iron links produce a specific sound when she shifts from sitting to kneeling.
A clink followed by a metallic whisper as the cuff rotates on her ankle.
I have heard this sequence approximately one thousand times. I could transcribe it the way I transcribe plainchant, but I will not.
It would mean I have been listening.
It has been three years of the Summa opened on the desk. Three years the beeswax candle lit, and the quill in my hand with her body beside my chair in the posture I taught her.
She knelt beside the desk.
