said.
I wanted to reach for the blotter and succeeded only in twitching my arm.
“Here,” she said sharply, reaching for the blotter and shoving it into my fingers.
She wrote in ink on an envelope and pushed it toward me. Holding the blotter in my hand, I stared at the envelope and could not move.
“Blot it,” she said.
I could not lift my hand. I knew what she had said; I knew what she wanted me to do; and I had heard her correctly. I wanted to look at her