Elke, covered with flour, a basket under one arm, knocked on the door of WEA-74. She had, once again, braved the darkness of the stairs to the third floor, but this time it was not for so benign a purpose of studying. No, this time, she had pastries. Pastries were, of course, the work of the devil.

Then there was the negating influence of this being Elke, who had about the vicious feeling of a pansy in the flower patch. All she wanted to do was share her apple cake so she wouldn't be the one ingesting a dozen million useless carbs all by herself! Nevermind most girls wouldn't share their apple cake with their compatriots in maintaining a decent weight; Elke had no conception of that.

When she knocked on the door, it was just two raps. Not exactly terrifying Work of the Devil knocking.

"Yvette? Are you there?" She might, reflected Elke sadly, still be writing her email. But maybe she wasn't!