erhaps she has come here today to gloat. Gloat and sneer and witness Tracy's punishment. Sit prim and virginal in her smart clothes, pocket back the change for the failed telephone call. She feels guilty at such thoughts, quashes them down. Reminds herself of 'friendship', digs deep for sympathy towards Tracy. Yet she is aware of the superfluity of her presence. She is out of place in this room, the only one not in a nightgown, the only one without an experience to swap. Why is she here then, flaunting the end of visiting hours? Why hasn't she gone home already? She is, in a strange way, enjoying herself, feeding her curiosity about the lives of these women. And she is contemptuous of herself for feeling this way.