Wassily Kandinsky Squares with Concentric

AM SORRY.
There was a pause.
‘Is that you, young Egbert?’
NO. IT IS ME, OLD BILL DOOR.
There was a series of thumps and twanging noises as the top half of the human extricated itself from the IS. ‘I mean your hand, Mr Door.’
Bill Door hesitated, and then put his hand in the young man’s palm. The oil-rimmed eyes glazed for a moment. as the brain overruled the sense of touch, and then the smith smiled.
‘The name’s Simnel. What do you think, eh?’machinery, and turned out to belong to a young man with black curly hair, a black face, black shirt, and black apron. He wiped acloth across his face, leaving a pink smear, and blinked the sweat out of his eyes.‘Who’re you?’GOOD OLD BILL DOOR? WORKING FOR MISS FLITWORTH?‘Oh, yes. The man in the fire? Hero of the hour, I heard. Put it there.’He extended a black hand. Bill Door looked at it blankly. I AM SORRY. I STILL DO NOT KNOW WHAT A THREE-EIGHTHS GRIPLEY