"Ah, yes, young lady. May I hear your views about morbidity in Nineteenth Century Russian thought?"

"I only put my hand up because of the heat," said the girl. "Not to talk about whether I'm traumatised by Russian thought. All I wanted was to ask you if I could open the bloody windows."

"Windows? Windows? Why, yes, I suppose you can. Weather reporters are saying that temperatures have risen to 90 degrees in the shade. What we need is a downpour. Once you've opened the windows, perhaps you could give an opinion about morbid elements and undercurrents of hopelessness in Nineteenth Century Russian thought. I say, these windows seem pretty stiff. Throw your whole weight on the ropes. That should get them open."

When she had done so, the girl went back to her seat.

"Well, young lady?" said Edward.

"I don't think morbidity plays a particularly significant part in Nineteenth Century Russian Literature," she said.

"What about the works of Pushkin?" asked Edward.

"What about them?"

"What can you tell us about his treatment of morbidity?"

"I don't think his stuff is particularly morbid, except the poem he wrote about his nanny's death. His poem, Tsar Nikita and his Forty Daughters is meant to be humorous."