Helga was sitting against the wall in the break room of S. Meyvantsson & Co.„s warehouse, with her legs flat on the floor and leaning a little bit to the left. She was dressed in a black velvet skirt and a bright yellow, short- sleeved shirt, with prominent shoulder-pads. A yellow and black silk scarf was tied delicately around her neck. Her pale, thin arms lay limply by her side and she had an air of vulnerability as she sat there with one shoe off. The shoe lay beside her on the brown felt carpet, the leather on the blue heel so worn that you could see through to the metal underneath. Her tights had ladders snaking up both thighs but her auburn hair she always took such pride in, fell in soft curls down to her narrow shoulders. At this angle it seemed longer on the left side.