So his secretarial interactions with Margaret had been over for some time, leaving his misappropriation of her department’s computer as her only residual headache.
Once again, Margaret did the kind considerate thing, being one of the few people to actually join him in the local snooker club’s social function room for his farewell after work on his last day. Before the time came, she also wrote on the farewell card that was presented to him in the office, using her uniquely artistic handwriting once more:

                                                Dear Peter,

                                                Good luck with your studies.

                                                I hope H.D.’s come your way

                                                easily.

                                                Love & Best Wishes,

                                                Margaret B.

 The farewell didn’t last that long, and then he was gone.

She found that the office was like a farm relieved of a disruptive animal from then on. She was able to get on with her work, without constantly wondering what manner of trouble would find its way to her desk at the hands of Pierre the company’s former resident coming of age brat.

When one of her monthly rostered days off was due, she finished her work the night before, went home to her apartment ate a light dinner and sat down to read on the carpet, with the bar heater positioned behind her. Little by little, she became drowsy, and was soon lying on her side, holding the book as best she could to continue reading, until she put it down altogether and yawned. She rested her hands under her cheek and wondered how long she would keep her eyes open. If she went to her bedroom, she might well drop off. If she didn’t, she might have difficulty sleeping on the floor, or just doze off for long enough to revitalize her mind for reading the rest of the book.

Then she saw a small shadow projecting from behind the leg of the couch. It wasn’t the couch leg itself, but looked more like a man would have looked, if the man had been less than two inches tall. Curious, she crawled around to the side of the couch, but the shadow seemed to move as well. When she reached the side and peeked under again, she could still see only a shadow. She moved back again, this time reaching around the front of the leg with her hand and felt something small run into it. She closed her fingers around it gently and brought it out and set it down on the floor in front of her face, while she lay down on her stomach, resting her face on her hands. It was in fact a very tiny man!

“Who are you?” she asked.

“Well, it’s a bit hard to explain,” said the little man.

She gave a deep wide yawn, and the little man gaped into her mouth, apparently awestruck by the size difference between them. He was so small that she could have swallowed him in a few seconds, if he’d been inside her mouth at the time.

“There’s something about your voice,” she said, moving her head forward a little, so that her eye was right in front of the tiny figure’s face, “Pierre, it’s you!”