MIt was well past midnight and as

usual Mary Kingsley was still up
writing in the small library of her

house at 32 Saint  Mary Abbott's

Terrace King-sling. The room was

overheated and stuffy she had never

been able to readjustto the damp

chill English climate since returning

from West Africa and she worked in
a pool of lamplight at her desk

which was cluttered with

ECMAScript in various hands

indecipherable notes maps sepia

Titania photograph curling up at the

edges.