"It must be green!" she cried
from the top of the commission flats.
"If it's not green, you will not be able to think straight! Your
fingers will bugger up! You will not be able to finish anything!
If it's not green, you'll stick to your chair and you'll starve to death!"
As she scrambled down the side of the flats to the ninth floor, she
thought more about the implications.
"It must be green! And it must be right! It cannot be bowler green,
or Cossack green. It cannot be Gainsborough green, or hard green, or
high green, or opera green. It must certainly not be sailor green, stove-pipe
green, straw green, top green, or Zulu green. My dear! My dear! No!!
It must not be any of these!!!"
She swings from the balcony of the ninth floor to the balcony of the
eighth.
"And dear, my dear, wear one, wear two!!! Wear how ever many you
wish. But beware! Be sure! Don't settle for less!"
And she belly dives form the balcony of the eighth to swoop the space
just above the courtyard below. She picks up speed to soar skywards,
and grabs hold of the rail on the balcony of the twentieth floor.
"Have I made myself clear? I do not jest. Green is the colour.
Green is the one. It's not too late!"
