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The Lizenge on the Ceiling
White, yellow, turning to dark brown round the edges, a field of light. It reminds me of the time when I used to practice my elocution with Miss Rutherford. She taught me how to speak up and out to the ceiling and the cornices to fling my arms wide open. Everything in Shakespeare, which I was then declaming to the ceiling, was about love. The sun moves across the boat every morning when the sun is out. It's calling me outside, it's calling me through the ceiling,. And I think of Miss Rutherford, that small bird hop-hop hopping up on top of my boat through the ceiling.