I grinded for experience before I took on the boss.

The terrifying stillness that haunted this perdulous spot was not among the least of my visitations, as I dropped down on the scraggy verge, imagining that a brief rest would lull or ameliorate the symptoms of exhaustion I laboured under.

Only two years older than André, this bespectacled bookworm had, after a flirt with the surrealists, settled down as the editor of Gallimard's literary monthly, Nouvelle Revue Française, better known by its acronym NRF.

“Danny Cipriani is blowing up my phone saying: ‘I’m going to sue you’,” she said, shortly before announcing her willingness to go to prison over the issue.