It was three minuten past ten.

The elevator doors opened with their usual “ding” to signal her arrival.

Dorota was in the kitchen; but when she heard the elevator she left her preparations for the volgende day’s breakfast to greet the little miss whom had been the cause of her worrying for the past three minutes.

“Miss Blair!”

There she was, in the entrance hall, not a single chocolate curl out of place, not a single hair on her head harmed.

Blair was fine. She looked positively proud of herself, and the carrier bags adorning her arm.

Full of new clothes, perfect for tomorrow.

Dorota frowned...