‘You see me as a brash woman. Well, yes, I’m brash. I’m a brash, hard, sick kind of woman: I have no illusions about myself. My marriages failed for unfortunate reasons. I left England because of its unpleasant associations for me: soon I shall have to leave Germany too.’

In a different kind of conversational way, the man said he had never been to Germany. Mrs Eckdorf shook her head, seeming to imply that whether or not he had been to Germany was irrelevant.

‘My last completely happy memories,’ said Mrs Eckdorf, ‘had to do with the dolls I had as a little doll. Can you imagine me as a little girl? Is it easy to imagine a woman of forty-six as a little girl at a dolls’ tea-party? For all you know I might be a drunk. Are you thinking that? If you’re interested, what I’m saying is that despite a nicely groomed exterior I have a heart like anyone else.’