Keep moving. The tossled bed, echoes of passion mere hours distant, undid me and I collapsed in a heap on the floor of my room. I sobbed—great, rack...ng sobs—until anger pushed its way to the surface. With the anger came the contents of my stomach, fortunately just a glass of wine and some nosh. Finger foods for polite, if strained, conversation. ‘You knew better,’ I scolded myself, lifting my bloodshot eyes to the mirror as I spat into the sink. Every fiber of my being had told me not to go. I learned to know the magnificent compositions of Johann SebastianBach, Johann Pachelbel and Dietrich Buxtehude. At that time theprogramming of organ concerts was almost always centered on the Germanschool of composers. Other composers, who were featured in theseconcerts, were Jan Pieterszoon Sweelinck, an early Dutch composer andCesar Franck, a Belgian born organist who worked in Paris and could beseen as a member of the modern school. When I was about 8 to 9 years old I even got my father to. And despite Lyn and Kat's games,that creeping euphoria was thrilling. I wanted this. To be this way.Somewhere, deep down, I always had.When I entered the store that morning, heels clipping along the polishedfloor, colleagues stopped what they were doing. Actually froze, taking inmy new image. It might have been the unexpected blonde hair and nails, orthe ultra-feminine way I was dressing after a week of trousers andblouses and sensible shoes. It might have been because I looked hot.But they. Me?You.Somebody, right here in the school, probably in this very library, was screwing with me. I slammed the lid closed and gathered up my stuff and got out of there."I'm telling you," I insisted, "someone is hacking my laptop!" I told him what I knew of webcam hacking and what I suspected about my wireless. He grinned at me tolerantly. Then he turned my laptop onto its edge and showed me the switch. "This is mechanical. It breaks the connection. No power, no wireless." But what if—" Why?" he.