![]() On certain evenings, the watching woman speculated that the writing man might be the author of the sentence, the reclusive Australian writer Gerald Murnane. The sentence was this: “Since then I have tried to avoid those rooms that grow steadily more crowded with works to explain away Time.” At the moment he glanced up from his page, the woman supposed him to be contemplating the look, or perhaps the sound, of the sentence he had just written. From where I sat, I had a clear view of him, and he, were he to look up from his writing, would have had a clear view of a house across the street, where a woman with dark hair and a faintly olive complexion was seated by a window, watching him write. ![]() ![]() ![]() The white curtains in his room were seldom drawn. On most evenings this past spring, the man who lives across the street sat at his small desk, turned on the lamp, and began to write as the light faded. ![]()
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