The library is one of Helena's haunts, almost an instinct to go there nearly every day. She finds a spot, she clears her mind, she writes. Or well, she tries to. The same maddening block, day after day. It's been weeks since she managed something, and even Theo's tip about words isn't helping. The words are stuck, the ideas are stuck. It's not working, and her frustration can only mount.

But she can't let people know. So instead, with a deep sigh (thinking she's alone), she lets the notebook fall shut with a snap, and turns from her own work to the Agatha Christie again, not wanting to fall behind when the reading nook of two will remeet. This will clear her head.

Or she could be not alone, and entirely obvious because she forgot to check if someone was near before indulging in her tiny theatrics. That could happen.