The pilot was still waiting for an answer.

I walked down the stairs before anyone gave him one.

The terminal lounge smelled of coffee and furniture polish.

I sat near the glass wall overlooking the aircraft, still carrying the handbag I had packed for a three-day business trip.

Clara found me a few minutes later.

She brought coffee and placed it beside an empty chair.

The receipt underneath showed six dollars.

“You haven’t touched breakfast,” she observed.