She moved her chair slightly towards the east window. The floor scraped against the wood, and the scrape echoed and bounced around the walls, and the echo pulsated against the stream of sun which warmed the hazy air toward the bare boards. And she ran her ear over the imprints in the silence, left by the shadows of voices peeled away. And she knew that hers was the last voice left.

Who was she going to discuss The Archers with now?