Aglet stifles a gasp as the vague familiarity of the woman coalesces into dream-memory. Resisting the urge to stand up and greet her in return immediately, he pushes himself backwards until he can scramble down to his own shelf unseen and emerge from behind the paper barrier that shields much of it from view. He's forgotten to brush the dust off, which will be interesting to explain later when he tries to tell Jennifer about his quiet morning of lounging about on his shelf and Not Borrowing.

"You're named after a bug," he blurts out, not remembering her name but remembering that he'd liked that about it.