Gwendoline looked intensely at Pietor. They both knew what this meant. Pietor steadied himself, suddenly aware of each second that ticked on the timepiece on Gwendoline’s wrist. Oh Gwendoline’s wrists. He could write odes to her wrists, ballads to her fingers, and limericks to her knuckles. But this sudden flight of longing cost Pietor dearly, as Gwendoline pinned his thumb and won the championship for the third year running.