The musty odour of an old apartment block hangs in the air, and Sister Elizabeth makes her way up the last flight of stairs to the top. Her brow is furrowed in concentration, one handclasping a basket holding samples of the convent's vintage wine. The late afternoon light filters through the corridor, and the apartment block seems entirely empty.
We need to raise more money, she speaks quietly to herself. The children at the orphanage depend on us, she murmurs, her voice soft but resolute, not quite to herself.
She stops outside the last door, hopeful that someone will be home. Gently wrapping on the door, she waits patiently for an answer. About to knock again, she is surprised to see the door open, and her serious gaze meets his as he opens the door to his apartment. She manages a slight smile despite the moment of surprise. Good afternoon, sir, she says. My name is Sister Elizabeth, and I am collecting charity from the proceeds of this wine, she motions to the basket. May I have a moment of your time?