@supersuit/hyperspec 0.8.0 → 0.9.0

package/examples/writing/essay/judge/panel-skeptic.packet.json

@@ -0,0 +1,114 @@
+{
+  "hyperspec_judge": "0.1",
+  "station": "panel",
+  "spec": "essay.hyperspec.md",
+  "spec_sha256": "e03dfac6b445ae779000f7fc109a9d713df2e5cf8967faf8e808fe87d63e40e9",
+  "draft": "essay/draft.md",
+  "draft_sha256": "aa4a1d99604f7b2b398b67305b368abbb72651356c38bfffad1452db6be62f65",
+  "rubric": "simulated reader reports where it got lost and where it stopped reading",
+  "instructions": "Read inputs.draft as inputs.reader: the person inputs.reader.who describes, knowing only what inputs.reader.knows lists and what anyone would, reading for inputs.reader.lens. List what works for this reader under good, what should change under improve, what this reader needs that the draft does not give under missing, and what should go under remove. Every item is { evidence, note }. evidence is a passage copied verbatim from inputs.draft, at least three whole words; for a missing item, quote the passage nearest to where the missing thing belongs. note says what and why, in a sentence, in this reader's terms. A list may be empty. Report what this reader would say, not what another reader would. Answer only in the verdict shape given in verdict_schema.",
+  "inputs": {
+    "reader": {
+      "id": "skeptic",
+      "who": "a skeptic who doubts the piece's central claim and wants it earned",
+      "knows": [],
+      "lens": "what is asserted without support, overstated, or does not follow"
+    },
+    "draft": "# Hand your first one-on-one to the person you manage\n\n## Who sets the agenda\n\nYour first one-on-one with a new report is the only meeting on your calendar where they should\nset the agenda. Everything else you run. This one you hand over.\n\nIf you walk in with a list, you have told your report what the meeting is for, and it is for\nyou. They will answer your list politely and leave. You will know nothing you did not know when\nyou sat down, and so will they.\n\nMy team ran a [survey](materials/team-survey.md) this spring. 29 of 41 people said their most useful one-on-one in the last\nquarter was one where they brought the first topic. The meeting that worked for them was the one\nthey started.\n\nSo give them the start. The simplest way to do it is a running agenda: one shared document per\nperson, kept for as long as you manage them. Your report adds items before each meeting, and you\nadd yours last, at the bottom. That is how an engineering manager I interviewed, eight years into\nthe job, runs hers. Her rule is short: the report owns the agenda.\n\n## My first one-on-one\n\nMy first one-on-one as a manager was a disaster, and the reason was simple: I ran it. I had a\nlist, and I went down the list. Project status, blockers, the thing from Tuesday. Thirty minutes\nlater my report said thanks and left, and I had learned nothing I could not have read in the\ntracker.\n\nWhat I ran was a status meeting, which is a meeting spent reading out loud what the tracker\nalready says. Your report wrote those updates. Asking them to recite the updates to you teaches\nyou nothing new, and it spends the one half hour a week that belongs to them.\n\nThe survey shows the cost from their side. 11 of 41 said at least one of their one-on-ones in the\nlast quarter was mostly project status. Read the tracker before you walk in, and leave status\nthere.\n\n## The three questions\n\nHere is what I ask now, in this order, and then I let the report take over:\n\n1. What is taking more of your energy than it should?\n2. What do you want to be doing more of in six months?\n3. What should I stop doing, or start doing, that would make your week easier?\n\nThree is enough to hand the meeting over. The first asks about this week. The second asks about\nthe next six months. The third asks about you, and it is the one your report will not raise\nwithout being asked. A fourth question starts to look like your list again, and the list is what\nyou came to give up.\n\nAsk them in the same words every time. Your report will learn them, and after a few weeks they\nwill walk in with answers already half formed. That is the point of fixing the words: the meeting\nstarts on their topic before you have said anything at all.\n\nThe second question is the one my own team asked for. The most common free-text request in the\nsurvey, in 9 responses, was to be asked what they want to work on next.\n\nAfter the third question, stop talking.\n\n## What to do with the answers\n\nWait after each question, longer than you want to. Dana, the engineering manager I interviewed,\nputs it in three short sentences: \"Wait. Count to five. The real answer is the second one.\" The first\nanswer your report gives is the tidy one, the version they could give anyone. The second is what\nthey came in with, and you only hear it if you let the silence run.\n\nWrite down what they say, in their words, at the top of the running agenda. That list is where\nyour next one-on-one starts, so the meeting stays theirs the week after too.\n\nDo not try to fix everything in the room. Pick one thing you can act on this week, say what you\nwill do, and do it before you meet again. The rest stays on the running agenda until it is done\nor your report takes it off.\n\nAnd keep your own urgent items out of it. She told me: \"If I have something urgent, it is not a\none-on-one topic. I send it the day it happens.\" Your report should never have to wait a week to\nhear something you needed them to know on Monday.\n\n## Before the meeting\n\nOpen the invite and delete your list from it. Ask your report to add the first item to the\nrunning agenda instead.\n\nSo write the three questions on a card. Ask the first one. Then wait, longer than feels polite,\nbecause the first answer is the one they rehearsed and the second one is the one you came for.\n"
+  },
+  "verdict_schema": {
+    "type": "object",
+    "required": [
+      "good",
+      "improve",
+      "missing",
+      "remove"
+    ],
+    "properties": {
+      "good": {
+        "type": "array",
+        "description": "what works for this reader; empty when nothing does",
+        "items": {
+          "type": "object",
+          "required": [
+            "evidence",
+            "note"
+          ],
+          "properties": {
+            "evidence": {
+              "type": "string",
+              "description": "a passage copied verbatim from the draft, at least three words; for a missing item, the passage nearest where it belongs"
+            },
+            "note": {
+              "type": "string",
+              "description": "what and why, in a sentence"
+            }
+          }
+        }
+      },
+      "improve": {
+        "type": "array",
+        "description": "what should change",
+        "items": {
+          "type": "object",
+          "required": [
+            "evidence",
+            "note"
+          ],
+          "properties": {
+            "evidence": {
+              "type": "string",
+              "description": "a passage copied verbatim from the draft, at least three words; for a missing item, the passage nearest where it belongs"
+            },
+            "note": {
+              "type": "string",
+              "description": "what and why, in a sentence"
+            }
+          }
+        }
+      },
+      "missing": {
+        "type": "array",
+        "description": "what this reader needs that the draft does not give",
+        "items": {
+          "type": "object",
+          "required": [
+            "evidence",
+            "note"
+          ],
+          "properties": {
+            "evidence": {
+              "type": "string",
+              "description": "a passage copied verbatim from the draft, at least three words; for a missing item, the passage nearest where it belongs"
+            },
+            "note": {
+              "type": "string",
+              "description": "what and why, in a sentence"
+            }
+          }
+        }
+      },
+      "remove": {
+        "type": "array",
+        "description": "what should go",
+        "items": {
+          "type": "object",
+          "required": [
+            "evidence",
+            "note"
+          ],
+          "properties": {
+            "evidence": {
+              "type": "string",
+              "description": "a passage copied verbatim from the draft, at least three words; for a missing item, the passage nearest where it belongs"
+            },
+            "note": {
+              "type": "string",
+              "description": "what and why, in a sentence"
+            }
+          }
+        }
+      }
+    }
+  }
+}

package/examples/writing/essay/sample-verdicts/panel-buyer.verdict.json

@@ -0,0 +1,11 @@
+{
+  "sample": "A sample judgment for the worked example, filled in by hand to show what a verdict looks like and what judge record does with it. It is one reading of the packet, not a model run, and another judge may answer differently. hyperspec ignores this field.",
+  "good": [
+    { "evidence": "So write the three questions on a card.", "note": "It ends on the one thing to do before the meeting, which is what this reader came for." }
+  ],
+  "improve": [],
+  "missing": [
+    { "evidence": "After the third question, stop talking.", "note": "What to do if the report has nothing to say: the silence that does not end is what a first-time manager is most afraid of." }
+  ],
+  "remove": []
+}

package/examples/writing/essay/sample-verdicts/panel-expert.verdict.json

@@ -0,0 +1,13 @@
+{
+  "sample": "A sample judgment for the worked example, filled in by hand to show what a verdict looks like and what judge record does with it. It is one reading of the packet, not a model run, and another judge may answer differently. hyperspec ignores this field.",
+  "good": [
+    { "evidence": "Pick one thing you can act on this week, say what you will do, and do it before you meet again.", "note": "The follow-through is what experienced managers say makes the meeting worth having, and it is concrete." }
+  ],
+  "improve": [
+    { "evidence": "After the third question, stop talking.", "note": "Right for most reports, but a new or quiet report may say nothing at all; say what to do when the silence runs on." }
+  ],
+  "missing": [],
+  "remove": [
+    { "evidence": "My first one-on-one as a manager was a disaster", "note": "An experienced reader has heard this story many times, and the survey already makes the case it makes." }
+  ]
+}

package/examples/writing/essay/sample-verdicts/panel-novice.verdict.json

@@ -0,0 +1,11 @@
+{
+  "sample": "A sample judgment for the worked example, filled in by hand to show what a verdict looks like and what judge record does with it. It is one reading of the packet, not a model run, and another judge may answer differently. hyperspec ignores this field.",
+  "good": [
+    { "evidence": "a status meeting, which is a meeting spent reading out loud what the tracker already says", "note": "The one term a newcomer would not know is defined in the sentence that names it." }
+  ],
+  "improve": [
+    { "evidence": "The simplest way to do it is a running agenda", "note": "It says what a running agenda is, but not who creates the document or where it lives, which is the first thing a new manager would have to do." }
+  ],
+  "missing": [],
+  "remove": []
+}

package/examples/writing/essay/sample-verdicts/panel-skeptic.verdict.json

@@ -0,0 +1,13 @@
+{
+  "sample": "A sample judgment for the worked example, filled in by hand to show what a verdict looks like and what judge record does with it. It is one reading of the packet, not a model run, and another judge may answer differently. hyperspec ignores this field.",
+  "good": [
+    { "evidence": "29 of 41 people said their most useful one-on-one in the last quarter was one where they brought the first topic.", "note": "The central claim rests on a count from the author's own team, not on an adjective." }
+  ],
+  "improve": [
+    { "evidence": "Three is enough to hand the meeting over.", "note": "Asserted rather than shown: nothing says why three works better than two, beyond a fourth starting to look like the manager's list." }
+  ],
+  "missing": [
+    { "evidence": "My team ran a", "note": "Who answered the survey and how it was asked is never said, so a reader cannot tell how far 41 people on one team carry." }
+  ],
+  "remove": []
+}

package/examples/writing/story/judge/panel-buyer.packet.json

@@ -0,0 +1,118 @@
+{
+  "hyperspec_judge": "0.1",
+  "station": "panel",
+  "spec": "story.hyperspec.md",
+  "spec_sha256": "8f417ebce7777cb4130afc8f0e2a1e4a483f1d4c7e7bcbadca202fda2208c6a9",
+  "draft": "story/draft.md",
+  "draft_sha256": "fdf8dd1ee311a376e45cca31b50f0b01f1157a889cb332620cbd178e9c510306",
+  "rubric": "simulated reader reports where it got lost and where it stopped reading",
+  "instructions": "Read inputs.draft as inputs.reader: the person inputs.reader.who describes, knowing only what inputs.reader.knows lists and what anyone would, reading for inputs.reader.lens. List what works for this reader under good, what should change under improve, what this reader needs that the draft does not give under missing, and what should go under remove. Every item is { evidence, note }. evidence is a passage copied verbatim from inputs.draft, at least three whole words; for a missing item, quote the passage nearest to where the missing thing belongs. note says what and why, in a sentence, in this reader's terms. A list may be empty. Report what this reader would say, not what another reader would. Answer only in the verdict shape given in verdict_schema.",
+  "inputs": {
+    "reader": {
+      "id": "buyer",
+      "who": "readers of a quarterly literary magazine who read short fiction in print",
+      "knows": [
+        "bakery",
+        "apprentice",
+        "sourdough"
+      ],
+      "lens": "what they want from this piece: a story they can finish in one sitting and keep thinking about"
+    },
+    "draft": "# The Rye\n\n## 3:40\n\nThe alarm at the bakery went at 3:20, but Ines was always there first, so in three years I never\nonce heard it. What I heard, coming in the back door at twenty to four with my hands in my\npockets, was the mixer. It had a knock in it, a slow one, like it was trying to remember\nsomething.\n\nShe was standing over the bowl with her sleeves pushed past the elbow and her glasses on top of\nher head, where they stayed until the till opened. She did not look round. She never did. The\nback door sticks in winter and you have to put your shoulder to it, so she always knew it was me\nbefore she could have seen me.\n\n\"You're late,\" she said.\n\nI wasn't. She knew I wasn't. The clock over the proving cabinet said 3:41, and it runs a minute\nfast, and she was the one who set it that way.\n\n\"The bus,\" I said anyway, because that is how we started.\n\n\"Flour first. Then you can talk.\"\n\nSo I did the flour. Flour is weighed at Ines's, never scooped. There is a scoop in the bin, a\nsteel one with a dent in the lip, and in three years I have only ever seen it used to push the\nflour level before the lid goes back on. I set the bowl on the scale and zeroed it and poured\nuntil the number stopped where she wanted it, and then I took out a handful and put back half\nof that, because the last few grams go in by hand, and she was watching the scale even though\nshe was not watching me.\n\nBehind us the deck oven was coming up to heat. The deck oven is three stone shelves stacked one\nover another inside a steel wall, each with its own door, and it takes the better part of an\nhour to get hot enough. Somewhere in that hour it starts to make the noise. It is not loud. It\nis a kind of tick, then a longer sound like somebody dragging a chair in the flat upstairs, then\nnothing for a while, then the tick again.\n\nIt made the noise while I was weighing the second batch. I looked at the oven and then at Ines,\nand she did not look at either of us.\n\n\"Okay but like,\" I said, \"if the oven's made that noise since March, is it a noise, or is that just\nhow the oven talks now?\"\n\n\"Water,\" she said.\n\nShe put the thermometer in the water herself, the way she did for every batch, and read it and\nsaid nothing, which meant it was right. The water temperature is checked every batch at Ines's,\neven when the water comes out of the same tap at the same time on the same morning as the day\nbefore. I have never asked her why. I check it too.\n\nWe worked. There is a radio on the shelf above the sink and nobody has turned it on since I have\nworked there. The mixer knocked. The oven ticked and dragged its chair. Outside it was still\ncompletely dark, and the street lamp at the corner made the frost on the window look like a\nthumbprint.\n\nThe letter from the school was in the inside pocket of my coat, which was on the hook by the back\ndoor. I had moved it there from my bag on the bus, and then back to my bag, and then back to the\ncoat, because the coat was closer. It was two pages. The first page said I had a place, and the\nsecond page said when term started, which was the autumn, in a city four hours away by train. I\nhad read both pages enough times that the fold had gone soft.\n\nI did not look at the coat. I looked at the dough.\n\nOn the calendar by the till, which I could see from the bench if I leaned, somebody had drawn a\nring round Friday in red pen. Ines does not use red pen. She uses a pencil she keeps behind her\near and sharpens with a knife. I leaned, and looked, and leaned back.\n\nThe starter was on the shelf above the mixer, where it always was. The starter is a wide glass\njar with a cloth over the top held on by a rubber band, and everything we make that is sour\ncomes out of it. It is the only thing in the bakery she has never let me touch. I have fed the\nmixer and cleaned the oven floor and scraped the bins and carried the flour sacks up from the\ncellar two at a time, and I have never once taken the cloth off that jar.\n\n\"Is the rye going in the big bowl?\" I asked, although it always went in the big bowl.\n\n\"Big bowl,\" she said.\n\n## 4:30\n\nInes does not talk while she shapes. Talking happens at the mixer and at the till, and the bench\nis for your hands. I learned that in my first week and I have never had to be told it twice. The\nsilence at the bench is the kind that makes you hear how loud your own questions are.\n\nSo at half past four we stood at the bench with the dough between us and did not talk.\n\nShe cut the white dough into pieces with the bench knife, and weighed each piece, and pushed each\none across to me, and I rounded them and set them seam up on the floured cloth in rows. Her\nknife was faster than my hands. It always was. She would cut the last piece and wipe the blade\nand wait, and I would still have six to go, and she would not help, and she would not watch me\neither. She would look at the window, where there was nothing yet to look at.\n\nWhen the white was done she went to the big bowl and turned the rye out onto the bench. Rye does\nnot behave like the white. It is heavy and it is wet and it sticks to everything, and it does not\nstretch so much as slump, and you have to shape it quickly with wet hands before it decides to\nbe the shape of the bench instead of the shape of the basket.\n\nShe cut it into four and weighed the four. Then she wiped the knife and put it down on my side of\nthe bench, and she went to the sink, and she wet her hands, and she dried them.\n\nI stood there. The rye sat there. The oven ticked.\n\n\"I can do the rye,\" I said, and then I remembered where we were and said the rest quietly. \"I\nmean, I think I can do the rye. I did it Tuesday, kind of.\"\n\nOn Tuesday I had held the basket while she shaped. That was what I meant by kind of.\n\nShe did not answer. That was allowed, at the bench. She took the cloth off the white rounds and\nchecked them with one finger, and put the cloth back, and then she went through to the front and\nstarted taking the chairs down off the tables, which was the job she always gave me.\n\nSo I did the rye.\n\nI wet my hands the way she did, up to the wrist. I took the first piece and folded it in on itself\nand turned it and folded it, and it stuck to my palm and I wet my hand again and it stuck again,\nand I could hear the chairs going down in the front, one leg and then the other three, and I did\nnot look up. The second piece was better. The third piece tore and I had to fold the torn side\nunder and hope. The fourth piece was the best one I have ever done, and there was nobody at the\nbench to see it, which I think was the point, or I think now was the point, and I did not think\neither of those things at the time. At the time I only thought about my hands.\n\nI put the four of them seam up in the baskets and dusted them and covered them. The baskets are\nold, and the rye has worn a pattern into the cane that is there even when they are empty.\n\nThe proof is the long wait after shaping, when the dough sits and rises before it goes in the\noven, and with rye you cannot hurry it. In winter the rye proofs about three hours at room\ntemperature. Ines will not put it in the proving cabinet. She says the cabinet is for the white.\nSo the four baskets went on the shelf by the window, and would sit there until well after the\ndoors opened, and nothing either of us did in the meantime would make them go any faster.\n\nShe came back from the front with flour on the knees of her trousers from the chairs. She looked\nat the four baskets on the shelf for about as long as it takes to read a price, and then she\nlooked at the bench, which I had scraped clean, and then she went to the mixer.\n\n\"Scrape the bowl,\" she said.\n\nI scraped the bowl.\n\n## 5:50\n\nBy ten to six the oven was full and the kitchen smelled the way it smells only for about an hour\na day, which is the hour I would pick if somebody made me pick one.\n\nThe back left of the deck oven runs hot, so every tray is turned halfway through the bake. Ines\nhas a timer on a string round her neck for it. She does not trust the ones on the oven. When it\ngoes she opens each door in turn and pulls each tray out with the peel, and spins it, and pushes\nit back, so that the side that was at the back is at the front, and nothing comes out darker on\none end than the other.\n\n\"Left side runs hot,\" she said, as the first tray went in, as if I had not been turning those\ntrays with her since I was sixteen. \"Turn them at eight minutes.\"\n\nI set my own timer, which I did not need to do, because hers would go at the same time.\n\nWe stood in front of the oven. There is nothing to do in that eight minutes except stand in front\nof the oven and not open it. The noise came and went. The street outside was starting to go from\nblack to the color of dishwater. A van went past without stopping.\n\nThe timer went. She opened the top door, and the heat came out, and she slid the peel under the\nfirst tray and drew it out onto the lip of the door and started to turn it.\n\n\"It's sold,\" she said.\n\nShe said it to the tray. She turned the tray, and pushed it back in, and pulled out the second.\n\nI did not say anything, because I did not know yet that she had said anything. It went past me\nthe way the van had gone past. Then it came back.\n\n\"What's sold?\" I said. I knew what was sold.\n\n\"The bakery. Friday.\" She turned the second tray and pushed it back and shut the top door and\nopened the middle one.\n\n\"Sold like,\" I said, \"sold? Like someone else is going to be here? Like I come in on Monday and\nsomebody else is at the mixer, is that what, is that the sold you mean?\"\n\n\"Not a bakery,\" she said. \"They want the room. Not the ovens.\"\n\nShe pulled out the third tray and turned it. She had not burnt herself on a tray in all the time\nI had known her, and she did not burn herself then. Her hands did exactly what they always did.\nI watched them because I did not know what else to watch.\n\n\"Then what happens to the ovens?\" I said. \"Then what happens to the mixer. Is somebody going to buy\nthe mixer? It knocks. Does the person who buys it know it knocks?\"\n\nShe shut the middle door and opened the bottom one.\n\n\"Is that why there's a ring round Friday?\" I said. \"Is that what the red pen is?\"\n\n\"Sold means sold,\" she said. \"Get the next tray.\"\n\nI got the next tray. It was the seeded rolls, which I had shaped at five, and I put them on the\npeel and she put them in, and I stood with the empty peel in my hands while she shut the door and\nthe heat stopped coming out.\n\nI wanted to ask how long she had known. I wanted to ask whether the new people had been in, and\nwhen, and whether they had stood in this kitchen while I was at home asleep, and whether they had\nlooked at the baskets on the shelf and thought they were just baskets. I did not ask any of it.\nI stood there with the peel and I thought about the letter in my coat, and I thought, she has\nknown this for days, maybe weeks, and every one of those mornings she came in before me and set\nthe clock a minute fast and told me I was late.\n\nThat was the only time all morning I nearly told her. The words got as far as the back of my\nteeth.\n\nThe timer on the string went. She turned the next tray.\n\n\"Rolls come out at sixteen,\" she said. \"Get the racks.\"\n\nI got the racks.\n\n## 6:55\n\nAt five to seven the front was ready. The chairs were down, the counter was wiped, the white was\nin the baskets behind the till and the rolls were on the racks, and the four rye loaves were still\non the shelf by the window under their cloths, still rising, a long way from done.\n\nThe doors open to customers at 7:00. The first person in is usually a regular. Through the glass\nI could see Walter already standing on the step with his collar up and his dog sitting on his\nfoot, which was what the dog did in winter. Ines keeps a biscuit in her apron for the dog and has\nnever once said so.\n\nShe was counting the float into the till. I stood behind the counter with my hands flat on it.\nThe letter was still in my coat. The coat was still on the hook by the back door, which was as\nfar from the counter as you can get in the bakery and still be inside it.\n\n\"I got into a school,\" I said.\n\nShe went on counting. She got to the end of the coins and closed the drawer.\n\n\"A baking school,\" I said. \"In the city. It's a proper one, it's the one with the, they do the whole\nyear on bread, and then pastry, and I applied in the spring and I didn't think, I mean I didn't\nthink I'd get in, and then I did. It starts in the autumn. I was going to tell you. I was going to\ntell you the day the letter came, and then I got here and you were at the mixer and it felt like,\nI don't know. It felt like the wrong time to say anything to anybody.\"\n\nShe looked at the four baskets on the shelf by the window.\n\nThen she walked past me into the back, and I heard her feet on the flour-dusty floor, and I heard\nher stop by the mixer, and I stood there with my hands on the counter and looked at Walter's dog.\n\nWhen she came back she had the starter.\n\nShe had the jar in both hands, the way you carry something you have filled too full. The cloth\nwas still on, and the rubber band, and the glass had a rim of dried flour at the top where it had\nrisen in the night and fallen back. She put it on the counter between us and took her hands away.\n\n\"Feed it at noon,\" she said. \"Equal weight flour and water. Weigh it.\"\n\nI looked at the jar. I did not pick it up. I have scraped the bins and carried the sacks and\ncleaned the oven floor, and I had never once taken the cloth off that jar, and now it was on the\ncounter in front of me with nobody's hands on it.\n\n\"Every day,\" she said. \"Not most days. Keep it out of the sun.\"\n\n\"Okay,\" I said. \"Okay. So is that a yes, or is that the face you make when it's a yes?\"\n\nShe took the glasses off the top of her head and put them on, which she only does for the till.\n\n\"Doors,\" she said.\n\nI picked up the jar. It was heavier than it looked, and it was warm on the side that had faced\nthe oven. I held it against my chest with one arm while she walked to the front and turned the\nsign and let Walter in, and Walter said good morning to her by name, and she said good morning to\nhim by his, and she bent down to the dog with her hand already in her apron.\n\nBehind me, on the shelf by the window, under their cloths, the four rye loaves I had shaped were\nstill rising, and the dough had lifted the cloth off the edge of the first basket by the width of\na finger.\n"
+  },
+  "verdict_schema": {
+    "type": "object",
+    "required": [
+      "good",
+      "improve",
+      "missing",
+      "remove"
+    ],
+    "properties": {
+      "good": {
+        "type": "array",
+        "description": "what works for this reader; empty when nothing does",
+        "items": {
+          "type": "object",
+          "required": [
+            "evidence",
+            "note"
+          ],
+          "properties": {
+            "evidence": {
+              "type": "string",
+              "description": "a passage copied verbatim from the draft, at least three words; for a missing item, the passage nearest where it belongs"
+            },
+            "note": {
+              "type": "string",
+              "description": "what and why, in a sentence"
+            }
+          }
+        }
+      },
+      "improve": {
+        "type": "array",
+        "description": "what should change",
+        "items": {
+          "type": "object",
+          "required": [
+            "evidence",
+            "note"
+          ],
+          "properties": {
+            "evidence": {
+              "type": "string",
+              "description": "a passage copied verbatim from the draft, at least three words; for a missing item, the passage nearest where it belongs"
+            },
+            "note": {
+              "type": "string",
+              "description": "what and why, in a sentence"
+            }
+          }
+        }
+      },
+      "missing": {
+        "type": "array",
+        "description": "what this reader needs that the draft does not give",
+        "items": {
+          "type": "object",
+          "required": [
+            "evidence",
+            "note"
+          ],
+          "properties": {
+            "evidence": {
+              "type": "string",
+              "description": "a passage copied verbatim from the draft, at least three words; for a missing item, the passage nearest where it belongs"
+            },
+            "note": {
+              "type": "string",
+              "description": "what and why, in a sentence"
+            }
+          }
+        }
+      },
+      "remove": {
+        "type": "array",
+        "description": "what should go",
+        "items": {
+          "type": "object",
+          "required": [
+            "evidence",
+            "note"
+          ],
+          "properties": {
+            "evidence": {
+              "type": "string",
+              "description": "a passage copied verbatim from the draft, at least three words; for a missing item, the passage nearest where it belongs"
+            },
+            "note": {
+              "type": "string",
+              "description": "what and why, in a sentence"
+            }
+          }
+        }
+      }
+    }
+  }
+}

package/examples/writing/story/judge/panel-expert.packet.json

@@ -0,0 +1,114 @@
+{
+  "hyperspec_judge": "0.1",
+  "station": "panel",
+  "spec": "story.hyperspec.md",
+  "spec_sha256": "8f417ebce7777cb4130afc8f0e2a1e4a483f1d4c7e7bcbadca202fda2208c6a9",
+  "draft": "story/draft.md",
+  "draft_sha256": "fdf8dd1ee311a376e45cca31b50f0b01f1157a889cb332620cbd178e9c510306",
+  "rubric": "simulated reader reports where it got lost and where it stopped reading",
+  "instructions": "Read inputs.draft as inputs.reader: the person inputs.reader.who describes, knowing only what inputs.reader.knows lists and what anyone would, reading for inputs.reader.lens. List what works for this reader under good, what should change under improve, what this reader needs that the draft does not give under missing, and what should go under remove. Every item is { evidence, note }. evidence is a passage copied verbatim from inputs.draft, at least three whole words; for a missing item, quote the passage nearest to where the missing thing belongs. note says what and why, in a sentence, in this reader's terms. A list may be empty. Report what this reader would say, not what another reader would. Answer only in the verdict shape given in verdict_schema.",
+  "inputs": {
+    "reader": {
+      "id": "expert",
+      "who": "an expert in the piece's subject",
+      "knows": [],
+      "lens": "what is wrong, out of date, oversimplified or missing for someone who knows the field"
+    },
+    "draft": "# The Rye\n\n## 3:40\n\nThe alarm at the bakery went at 3:20, but Ines was always there first, so in three years I never\nonce heard it. What I heard, coming in the back door at twenty to four with my hands in my\npockets, was the mixer. It had a knock in it, a slow one, like it was trying to remember\nsomething.\n\nShe was standing over the bowl with her sleeves pushed past the elbow and her glasses on top of\nher head, where they stayed until the till opened. She did not look round. She never did. The\nback door sticks in winter and you have to put your shoulder to it, so she always knew it was me\nbefore she could have seen me.\n\n\"You're late,\" she said.\n\nI wasn't. She knew I wasn't. The clock over the proving cabinet said 3:41, and it runs a minute\nfast, and she was the one who set it that way.\n\n\"The bus,\" I said anyway, because that is how we started.\n\n\"Flour first. Then you can talk.\"\n\nSo I did the flour. Flour is weighed at Ines's, never scooped. There is a scoop in the bin, a\nsteel one with a dent in the lip, and in three years I have only ever seen it used to push the\nflour level before the lid goes back on. I set the bowl on the scale and zeroed it and poured\nuntil the number stopped where she wanted it, and then I took out a handful and put back half\nof that, because the last few grams go in by hand, and she was watching the scale even though\nshe was not watching me.\n\nBehind us the deck oven was coming up to heat. The deck oven is three stone shelves stacked one\nover another inside a steel wall, each with its own door, and it takes the better part of an\nhour to get hot enough. Somewhere in that hour it starts to make the noise. It is not loud. It\nis a kind of tick, then a longer sound like somebody dragging a chair in the flat upstairs, then\nnothing for a while, then the tick again.\n\nIt made the noise while I was weighing the second batch. I looked at the oven and then at Ines,\nand she did not look at either of us.\n\n\"Okay but like,\" I said, \"if the oven's made that noise since March, is it a noise, or is that just\nhow the oven talks now?\"\n\n\"Water,\" she said.\n\nShe put the thermometer in the water herself, the way she did for every batch, and read it and\nsaid nothing, which meant it was right. The water temperature is checked every batch at Ines's,\neven when the water comes out of the same tap at the same time on the same morning as the day\nbefore. I have never asked her why. I check it too.\n\nWe worked. There is a radio on the shelf above the sink and nobody has turned it on since I have\nworked there. The mixer knocked. The oven ticked and dragged its chair. Outside it was still\ncompletely dark, and the street lamp at the corner made the frost on the window look like a\nthumbprint.\n\nThe letter from the school was in the inside pocket of my coat, which was on the hook by the back\ndoor. I had moved it there from my bag on the bus, and then back to my bag, and then back to the\ncoat, because the coat was closer. It was two pages. The first page said I had a place, and the\nsecond page said when term started, which was the autumn, in a city four hours away by train. I\nhad read both pages enough times that the fold had gone soft.\n\nI did not look at the coat. I looked at the dough.\n\nOn the calendar by the till, which I could see from the bench if I leaned, somebody had drawn a\nring round Friday in red pen. Ines does not use red pen. She uses a pencil she keeps behind her\near and sharpens with a knife. I leaned, and looked, and leaned back.\n\nThe starter was on the shelf above the mixer, where it always was. The starter is a wide glass\njar with a cloth over the top held on by a rubber band, and everything we make that is sour\ncomes out of it. It is the only thing in the bakery she has never let me touch. I have fed the\nmixer and cleaned the oven floor and scraped the bins and carried the flour sacks up from the\ncellar two at a time, and I have never once taken the cloth off that jar.\n\n\"Is the rye going in the big bowl?\" I asked, although it always went in the big bowl.\n\n\"Big bowl,\" she said.\n\n## 4:30\n\nInes does not talk while she shapes. Talking happens at the mixer and at the till, and the bench\nis for your hands. I learned that in my first week and I have never had to be told it twice. The\nsilence at the bench is the kind that makes you hear how loud your own questions are.\n\nSo at half past four we stood at the bench with the dough between us and did not talk.\n\nShe cut the white dough into pieces with the bench knife, and weighed each piece, and pushed each\none across to me, and I rounded them and set them seam up on the floured cloth in rows. Her\nknife was faster than my hands. It always was. She would cut the last piece and wipe the blade\nand wait, and I would still have six to go, and she would not help, and she would not watch me\neither. She would look at the window, where there was nothing yet to look at.\n\nWhen the white was done she went to the big bowl and turned the rye out onto the bench. Rye does\nnot behave like the white. It is heavy and it is wet and it sticks to everything, and it does not\nstretch so much as slump, and you have to shape it quickly with wet hands before it decides to\nbe the shape of the bench instead of the shape of the basket.\n\nShe cut it into four and weighed the four. Then she wiped the knife and put it down on my side of\nthe bench, and she went to the sink, and she wet her hands, and she dried them.\n\nI stood there. The rye sat there. The oven ticked.\n\n\"I can do the rye,\" I said, and then I remembered where we were and said the rest quietly. \"I\nmean, I think I can do the rye. I did it Tuesday, kind of.\"\n\nOn Tuesday I had held the basket while she shaped. That was what I meant by kind of.\n\nShe did not answer. That was allowed, at the bench. She took the cloth off the white rounds and\nchecked them with one finger, and put the cloth back, and then she went through to the front and\nstarted taking the chairs down off the tables, which was the job she always gave me.\n\nSo I did the rye.\n\nI wet my hands the way she did, up to the wrist. I took the first piece and folded it in on itself\nand turned it and folded it, and it stuck to my palm and I wet my hand again and it stuck again,\nand I could hear the chairs going down in the front, one leg and then the other three, and I did\nnot look up. The second piece was better. The third piece tore and I had to fold the torn side\nunder and hope. The fourth piece was the best one I have ever done, and there was nobody at the\nbench to see it, which I think was the point, or I think now was the point, and I did not think\neither of those things at the time. At the time I only thought about my hands.\n\nI put the four of them seam up in the baskets and dusted them and covered them. The baskets are\nold, and the rye has worn a pattern into the cane that is there even when they are empty.\n\nThe proof is the long wait after shaping, when the dough sits and rises before it goes in the\noven, and with rye you cannot hurry it. In winter the rye proofs about three hours at room\ntemperature. Ines will not put it in the proving cabinet. She says the cabinet is for the white.\nSo the four baskets went on the shelf by the window, and would sit there until well after the\ndoors opened, and nothing either of us did in the meantime would make them go any faster.\n\nShe came back from the front with flour on the knees of her trousers from the chairs. She looked\nat the four baskets on the shelf for about as long as it takes to read a price, and then she\nlooked at the bench, which I had scraped clean, and then she went to the mixer.\n\n\"Scrape the bowl,\" she said.\n\nI scraped the bowl.\n\n## 5:50\n\nBy ten to six the oven was full and the kitchen smelled the way it smells only for about an hour\na day, which is the hour I would pick if somebody made me pick one.\n\nThe back left of the deck oven runs hot, so every tray is turned halfway through the bake. Ines\nhas a timer on a string round her neck for it. She does not trust the ones on the oven. When it\ngoes she opens each door in turn and pulls each tray out with the peel, and spins it, and pushes\nit back, so that the side that was at the back is at the front, and nothing comes out darker on\none end than the other.\n\n\"Left side runs hot,\" she said, as the first tray went in, as if I had not been turning those\ntrays with her since I was sixteen. \"Turn them at eight minutes.\"\n\nI set my own timer, which I did not need to do, because hers would go at the same time.\n\nWe stood in front of the oven. There is nothing to do in that eight minutes except stand in front\nof the oven and not open it. The noise came and went. The street outside was starting to go from\nblack to the color of dishwater. A van went past without stopping.\n\nThe timer went. She opened the top door, and the heat came out, and she slid the peel under the\nfirst tray and drew it out onto the lip of the door and started to turn it.\n\n\"It's sold,\" she said.\n\nShe said it to the tray. She turned the tray, and pushed it back in, and pulled out the second.\n\nI did not say anything, because I did not know yet that she had said anything. It went past me\nthe way the van had gone past. Then it came back.\n\n\"What's sold?\" I said. I knew what was sold.\n\n\"The bakery. Friday.\" She turned the second tray and pushed it back and shut the top door and\nopened the middle one.\n\n\"Sold like,\" I said, \"sold? Like someone else is going to be here? Like I come in on Monday and\nsomebody else is at the mixer, is that what, is that the sold you mean?\"\n\n\"Not a bakery,\" she said. \"They want the room. Not the ovens.\"\n\nShe pulled out the third tray and turned it. She had not burnt herself on a tray in all the time\nI had known her, and she did not burn herself then. Her hands did exactly what they always did.\nI watched them because I did not know what else to watch.\n\n\"Then what happens to the ovens?\" I said. \"Then what happens to the mixer. Is somebody going to buy\nthe mixer? It knocks. Does the person who buys it know it knocks?\"\n\nShe shut the middle door and opened the bottom one.\n\n\"Is that why there's a ring round Friday?\" I said. \"Is that what the red pen is?\"\n\n\"Sold means sold,\" she said. \"Get the next tray.\"\n\nI got the next tray. It was the seeded rolls, which I had shaped at five, and I put them on the\npeel and she put them in, and I stood with the empty peel in my hands while she shut the door and\nthe heat stopped coming out.\n\nI wanted to ask how long she had known. I wanted to ask whether the new people had been in, and\nwhen, and whether they had stood in this kitchen while I was at home asleep, and whether they had\nlooked at the baskets on the shelf and thought they were just baskets. I did not ask any of it.\nI stood there with the peel and I thought about the letter in my coat, and I thought, she has\nknown this for days, maybe weeks, and every one of those mornings she came in before me and set\nthe clock a minute fast and told me I was late.\n\nThat was the only time all morning I nearly told her. The words got as far as the back of my\nteeth.\n\nThe timer on the string went. She turned the next tray.\n\n\"Rolls come out at sixteen,\" she said. \"Get the racks.\"\n\nI got the racks.\n\n## 6:55\n\nAt five to seven the front was ready. The chairs were down, the counter was wiped, the white was\nin the baskets behind the till and the rolls were on the racks, and the four rye loaves were still\non the shelf by the window under their cloths, still rising, a long way from done.\n\nThe doors open to customers at 7:00. The first person in is usually a regular. Through the glass\nI could see Walter already standing on the step with his collar up and his dog sitting on his\nfoot, which was what the dog did in winter. Ines keeps a biscuit in her apron for the dog and has\nnever once said so.\n\nShe was counting the float into the till. I stood behind the counter with my hands flat on it.\nThe letter was still in my coat. The coat was still on the hook by the back door, which was as\nfar from the counter as you can get in the bakery and still be inside it.\n\n\"I got into a school,\" I said.\n\nShe went on counting. She got to the end of the coins and closed the drawer.\n\n\"A baking school,\" I said. \"In the city. It's a proper one, it's the one with the, they do the whole\nyear on bread, and then pastry, and I applied in the spring and I didn't think, I mean I didn't\nthink I'd get in, and then I did. It starts in the autumn. I was going to tell you. I was going to\ntell you the day the letter came, and then I got here and you were at the mixer and it felt like,\nI don't know. It felt like the wrong time to say anything to anybody.\"\n\nShe looked at the four baskets on the shelf by the window.\n\nThen she walked past me into the back, and I heard her feet on the flour-dusty floor, and I heard\nher stop by the mixer, and I stood there with my hands on the counter and looked at Walter's dog.\n\nWhen she came back she had the starter.\n\nShe had the jar in both hands, the way you carry something you have filled too full. The cloth\nwas still on, and the rubber band, and the glass had a rim of dried flour at the top where it had\nrisen in the night and fallen back. She put it on the counter between us and took her hands away.\n\n\"Feed it at noon,\" she said. \"Equal weight flour and water. Weigh it.\"\n\nI looked at the jar. I did not pick it up. I have scraped the bins and carried the sacks and\ncleaned the oven floor, and I had never once taken the cloth off that jar, and now it was on the\ncounter in front of me with nobody's hands on it.\n\n\"Every day,\" she said. \"Not most days. Keep it out of the sun.\"\n\n\"Okay,\" I said. \"Okay. So is that a yes, or is that the face you make when it's a yes?\"\n\nShe took the glasses off the top of her head and put them on, which she only does for the till.\n\n\"Doors,\" she said.\n\nI picked up the jar. It was heavier than it looked, and it was warm on the side that had faced\nthe oven. I held it against my chest with one arm while she walked to the front and turned the\nsign and let Walter in, and Walter said good morning to her by name, and she said good morning to\nhim by his, and she bent down to the dog with her hand already in her apron.\n\nBehind me, on the shelf by the window, under their cloths, the four rye loaves I had shaped were\nstill rising, and the dough had lifted the cloth off the edge of the first basket by the width of\na finger.\n"
+  },
+  "verdict_schema": {
+    "type": "object",
+    "required": [
+      "good",
+      "improve",
+      "missing",
+      "remove"
+    ],
+    "properties": {
+      "good": {
+        "type": "array",
+        "description": "what works for this reader; empty when nothing does",
+        "items": {
+          "type": "object",
+          "required": [
+            "evidence",
+            "note"
+          ],
+          "properties": {
+            "evidence": {
+              "type": "string",
+              "description": "a passage copied verbatim from the draft, at least three words; for a missing item, the passage nearest where it belongs"
+            },
+            "note": {
+              "type": "string",
+              "description": "what and why, in a sentence"
+            }
+          }
+        }
+      },
+      "improve": {
+        "type": "array",
+        "description": "what should change",
+        "items": {
+          "type": "object",
+          "required": [
+            "evidence",
+            "note"
+          ],
+          "properties": {
+            "evidence": {
+              "type": "string",
+              "description": "a passage copied verbatim from the draft, at least three words; for a missing item, the passage nearest where it belongs"
+            },
+            "note": {
+              "type": "string",
+              "description": "what and why, in a sentence"
+            }
+          }
+        }
+      },
+      "missing": {
+        "type": "array",
+        "description": "what this reader needs that the draft does not give",
+        "items": {
+          "type": "object",
+          "required": [
+            "evidence",
+            "note"
+          ],
+          "properties": {
+            "evidence": {
+              "type": "string",
+              "description": "a passage copied verbatim from the draft, at least three words; for a missing item, the passage nearest where it belongs"
+            },
+            "note": {
+              "type": "string",
+              "description": "what and why, in a sentence"
+            }
+          }
+        }
+      },
+      "remove": {
+        "type": "array",
+        "description": "what should go",
+        "items": {
+          "type": "object",
+          "required": [
+            "evidence",
+            "note"
+          ],
+          "properties": {
+            "evidence": {
+              "type": "string",
+              "description": "a passage copied verbatim from the draft, at least three words; for a missing item, the passage nearest where it belongs"
+            },
+            "note": {
+              "type": "string",
+              "description": "what and why, in a sentence"
+            }
+          }
+        }
+      }
+    }
+  }
+}

package/examples/writing/story/judge/panel-novice.packet.json

@@ -0,0 +1,114 @@
+{
+  "hyperspec_judge": "0.1",
+  "station": "panel",
+  "spec": "story.hyperspec.md",
+  "spec_sha256": "8f417ebce7777cb4130afc8f0e2a1e4a483f1d4c7e7bcbadca202fda2208c6a9",
+  "draft": "story/draft.md",
+  "draft_sha256": "fdf8dd1ee311a376e45cca31b50f0b01f1157a889cb332620cbd178e9c510306",
+  "rubric": "simulated reader reports where it got lost and where it stopped reading",
+  "instructions": "Read inputs.draft as inputs.reader: the person inputs.reader.who describes, knowing only what inputs.reader.knows lists and what anyone would, reading for inputs.reader.lens. List what works for this reader under good, what should change under improve, what this reader needs that the draft does not give under missing, and what should go under remove. Every item is { evidence, note }. evidence is a passage copied verbatim from inputs.draft, at least three whole words; for a missing item, quote the passage nearest to where the missing thing belongs. note says what and why, in a sentence, in this reader's terms. A list may be empty. Report what this reader would say, not what another reader would. Answer only in the verdict shape given in verdict_schema.",
+  "inputs": {
+    "reader": {
+      "id": "novice",
+      "who": "a newcomer to the subject, meeting its ideas for the first time",
+      "knows": [],
+      "lens": "every term, step or assumption the piece does not explain"
+    },
+    "draft": "# The Rye\n\n## 3:40\n\nThe alarm at the bakery went at 3:20, but Ines was always there first, so in three years I never\nonce heard it. What I heard, coming in the back door at twenty to four with my hands in my\npockets, was the mixer. It had a knock in it, a slow one, like it was trying to remember\nsomething.\n\nShe was standing over the bowl with her sleeves pushed past the elbow and her glasses on top of\nher head, where they stayed until the till opened. She did not look round. She never did. The\nback door sticks in winter and you have to put your shoulder to it, so she always knew it was me\nbefore she could have seen me.\n\n\"You're late,\" she said.\n\nI wasn't. She knew I wasn't. The clock over the proving cabinet said 3:41, and it runs a minute\nfast, and she was the one who set it that way.\n\n\"The bus,\" I said anyway, because that is how we started.\n\n\"Flour first. Then you can talk.\"\n\nSo I did the flour. Flour is weighed at Ines's, never scooped. There is a scoop in the bin, a\nsteel one with a dent in the lip, and in three years I have only ever seen it used to push the\nflour level before the lid goes back on. I set the bowl on the scale and zeroed it and poured\nuntil the number stopped where she wanted it, and then I took out a handful and put back half\nof that, because the last few grams go in by hand, and she was watching the scale even though\nshe was not watching me.\n\nBehind us the deck oven was coming up to heat. The deck oven is three stone shelves stacked one\nover another inside a steel wall, each with its own door, and it takes the better part of an\nhour to get hot enough. Somewhere in that hour it starts to make the noise. It is not loud. It\nis a kind of tick, then a longer sound like somebody dragging a chair in the flat upstairs, then\nnothing for a while, then the tick again.\n\nIt made the noise while I was weighing the second batch. I looked at the oven and then at Ines,\nand she did not look at either of us.\n\n\"Okay but like,\" I said, \"if the oven's made that noise since March, is it a noise, or is that just\nhow the oven talks now?\"\n\n\"Water,\" she said.\n\nShe put the thermometer in the water herself, the way she did for every batch, and read it and\nsaid nothing, which meant it was right. The water temperature is checked every batch at Ines's,\neven when the water comes out of the same tap at the same time on the same morning as the day\nbefore. I have never asked her why. I check it too.\n\nWe worked. There is a radio on the shelf above the sink and nobody has turned it on since I have\nworked there. The mixer knocked. The oven ticked and dragged its chair. Outside it was still\ncompletely dark, and the street lamp at the corner made the frost on the window look like a\nthumbprint.\n\nThe letter from the school was in the inside pocket of my coat, which was on the hook by the back\ndoor. I had moved it there from my bag on the bus, and then back to my bag, and then back to the\ncoat, because the coat was closer. It was two pages. The first page said I had a place, and the\nsecond page said when term started, which was the autumn, in a city four hours away by train. I\nhad read both pages enough times that the fold had gone soft.\n\nI did not look at the coat. I looked at the dough.\n\nOn the calendar by the till, which I could see from the bench if I leaned, somebody had drawn a\nring round Friday in red pen. Ines does not use red pen. She uses a pencil she keeps behind her\near and sharpens with a knife. I leaned, and looked, and leaned back.\n\nThe starter was on the shelf above the mixer, where it always was. The starter is a wide glass\njar with a cloth over the top held on by a rubber band, and everything we make that is sour\ncomes out of it. It is the only thing in the bakery she has never let me touch. I have fed the\nmixer and cleaned the oven floor and scraped the bins and carried the flour sacks up from the\ncellar two at a time, and I have never once taken the cloth off that jar.\n\n\"Is the rye going in the big bowl?\" I asked, although it always went in the big bowl.\n\n\"Big bowl,\" she said.\n\n## 4:30\n\nInes does not talk while she shapes. Talking happens at the mixer and at the till, and the bench\nis for your hands. I learned that in my first week and I have never had to be told it twice. The\nsilence at the bench is the kind that makes you hear how loud your own questions are.\n\nSo at half past four we stood at the bench with the dough between us and did not talk.\n\nShe cut the white dough into pieces with the bench knife, and weighed each piece, and pushed each\none across to me, and I rounded them and set them seam up on the floured cloth in rows. Her\nknife was faster than my hands. It always was. She would cut the last piece and wipe the blade\nand wait, and I would still have six to go, and she would not help, and she would not watch me\neither. She would look at the window, where there was nothing yet to look at.\n\nWhen the white was done she went to the big bowl and turned the rye out onto the bench. Rye does\nnot behave like the white. It is heavy and it is wet and it sticks to everything, and it does not\nstretch so much as slump, and you have to shape it quickly with wet hands before it decides to\nbe the shape of the bench instead of the shape of the basket.\n\nShe cut it into four and weighed the four. Then she wiped the knife and put it down on my side of\nthe bench, and she went to the sink, and she wet her hands, and she dried them.\n\nI stood there. The rye sat there. The oven ticked.\n\n\"I can do the rye,\" I said, and then I remembered where we were and said the rest quietly. \"I\nmean, I think I can do the rye. I did it Tuesday, kind of.\"\n\nOn Tuesday I had held the basket while she shaped. That was what I meant by kind of.\n\nShe did not answer. That was allowed, at the bench. She took the cloth off the white rounds and\nchecked them with one finger, and put the cloth back, and then she went through to the front and\nstarted taking the chairs down off the tables, which was the job she always gave me.\n\nSo I did the rye.\n\nI wet my hands the way she did, up to the wrist. I took the first piece and folded it in on itself\nand turned it and folded it, and it stuck to my palm and I wet my hand again and it stuck again,\nand I could hear the chairs going down in the front, one leg and then the other three, and I did\nnot look up. The second piece was better. The third piece tore and I had to fold the torn side\nunder and hope. The fourth piece was the best one I have ever done, and there was nobody at the\nbench to see it, which I think was the point, or I think now was the point, and I did not think\neither of those things at the time. At the time I only thought about my hands.\n\nI put the four of them seam up in the baskets and dusted them and covered them. The baskets are\nold, and the rye has worn a pattern into the cane that is there even when they are empty.\n\nThe proof is the long wait after shaping, when the dough sits and rises before it goes in the\noven, and with rye you cannot hurry it. In winter the rye proofs about three hours at room\ntemperature. Ines will not put it in the proving cabinet. She says the cabinet is for the white.\nSo the four baskets went on the shelf by the window, and would sit there until well after the\ndoors opened, and nothing either of us did in the meantime would make them go any faster.\n\nShe came back from the front with flour on the knees of her trousers from the chairs. She looked\nat the four baskets on the shelf for about as long as it takes to read a price, and then she\nlooked at the bench, which I had scraped clean, and then she went to the mixer.\n\n\"Scrape the bowl,\" she said.\n\nI scraped the bowl.\n\n## 5:50\n\nBy ten to six the oven was full and the kitchen smelled the way it smells only for about an hour\na day, which is the hour I would pick if somebody made me pick one.\n\nThe back left of the deck oven runs hot, so every tray is turned halfway through the bake. Ines\nhas a timer on a string round her neck for it. She does not trust the ones on the oven. When it\ngoes she opens each door in turn and pulls each tray out with the peel, and spins it, and pushes\nit back, so that the side that was at the back is at the front, and nothing comes out darker on\none end than the other.\n\n\"Left side runs hot,\" she said, as the first tray went in, as if I had not been turning those\ntrays with her since I was sixteen. \"Turn them at eight minutes.\"\n\nI set my own timer, which I did not need to do, because hers would go at the same time.\n\nWe stood in front of the oven. There is nothing to do in that eight minutes except stand in front\nof the oven and not open it. The noise came and went. The street outside was starting to go from\nblack to the color of dishwater. A van went past without stopping.\n\nThe timer went. She opened the top door, and the heat came out, and she slid the peel under the\nfirst tray and drew it out onto the lip of the door and started to turn it.\n\n\"It's sold,\" she said.\n\nShe said it to the tray. She turned the tray, and pushed it back in, and pulled out the second.\n\nI did not say anything, because I did not know yet that she had said anything. It went past me\nthe way the van had gone past. Then it came back.\n\n\"What's sold?\" I said. I knew what was sold.\n\n\"The bakery. Friday.\" She turned the second tray and pushed it back and shut the top door and\nopened the middle one.\n\n\"Sold like,\" I said, \"sold? Like someone else is going to be here? Like I come in on Monday and\nsomebody else is at the mixer, is that what, is that the sold you mean?\"\n\n\"Not a bakery,\" she said. \"They want the room. Not the ovens.\"\n\nShe pulled out the third tray and turned it. She had not burnt herself on a tray in all the time\nI had known her, and she did not burn herself then. Her hands did exactly what they always did.\nI watched them because I did not know what else to watch.\n\n\"Then what happens to the ovens?\" I said. \"Then what happens to the mixer. Is somebody going to buy\nthe mixer? It knocks. Does the person who buys it know it knocks?\"\n\nShe shut the middle door and opened the bottom one.\n\n\"Is that why there's a ring round Friday?\" I said. \"Is that what the red pen is?\"\n\n\"Sold means sold,\" she said. \"Get the next tray.\"\n\nI got the next tray. It was the seeded rolls, which I had shaped at five, and I put them on the\npeel and she put them in, and I stood with the empty peel in my hands while she shut the door and\nthe heat stopped coming out.\n\nI wanted to ask how long she had known. I wanted to ask whether the new people had been in, and\nwhen, and whether they had stood in this kitchen while I was at home asleep, and whether they had\nlooked at the baskets on the shelf and thought they were just baskets. I did not ask any of it.\nI stood there with the peel and I thought about the letter in my coat, and I thought, she has\nknown this for days, maybe weeks, and every one of those mornings she came in before me and set\nthe clock a minute fast and told me I was late.\n\nThat was the only time all morning I nearly told her. The words got as far as the back of my\nteeth.\n\nThe timer on the string went. She turned the next tray.\n\n\"Rolls come out at sixteen,\" she said. \"Get the racks.\"\n\nI got the racks.\n\n## 6:55\n\nAt five to seven the front was ready. The chairs were down, the counter was wiped, the white was\nin the baskets behind the till and the rolls were on the racks, and the four rye loaves were still\non the shelf by the window under their cloths, still rising, a long way from done.\n\nThe doors open to customers at 7:00. The first person in is usually a regular. Through the glass\nI could see Walter already standing on the step with his collar up and his dog sitting on his\nfoot, which was what the dog did in winter. Ines keeps a biscuit in her apron for the dog and has\nnever once said so.\n\nShe was counting the float into the till. I stood behind the counter with my hands flat on it.\nThe letter was still in my coat. The coat was still on the hook by the back door, which was as\nfar from the counter as you can get in the bakery and still be inside it.\n\n\"I got into a school,\" I said.\n\nShe went on counting. She got to the end of the coins and closed the drawer.\n\n\"A baking school,\" I said. \"In the city. It's a proper one, it's the one with the, they do the whole\nyear on bread, and then pastry, and I applied in the spring and I didn't think, I mean I didn't\nthink I'd get in, and then I did. It starts in the autumn. I was going to tell you. I was going to\ntell you the day the letter came, and then I got here and you were at the mixer and it felt like,\nI don't know. It felt like the wrong time to say anything to anybody.\"\n\nShe looked at the four baskets on the shelf by the window.\n\nThen she walked past me into the back, and I heard her feet on the flour-dusty floor, and I heard\nher stop by the mixer, and I stood there with my hands on the counter and looked at Walter's dog.\n\nWhen she came back she had the starter.\n\nShe had the jar in both hands, the way you carry something you have filled too full. The cloth\nwas still on, and the rubber band, and the glass had a rim of dried flour at the top where it had\nrisen in the night and fallen back. She put it on the counter between us and took her hands away.\n\n\"Feed it at noon,\" she said. \"Equal weight flour and water. Weigh it.\"\n\nI looked at the jar. I did not pick it up. I have scraped the bins and carried the sacks and\ncleaned the oven floor, and I had never once taken the cloth off that jar, and now it was on the\ncounter in front of me with nobody's hands on it.\n\n\"Every day,\" she said. \"Not most days. Keep it out of the sun.\"\n\n\"Okay,\" I said. \"Okay. So is that a yes, or is that the face you make when it's a yes?\"\n\nShe took the glasses off the top of her head and put them on, which she only does for the till.\n\n\"Doors,\" she said.\n\nI picked up the jar. It was heavier than it looked, and it was warm on the side that had faced\nthe oven. I held it against my chest with one arm while she walked to the front and turned the\nsign and let Walter in, and Walter said good morning to her by name, and she said good morning to\nhim by his, and she bent down to the dog with her hand already in her apron.\n\nBehind me, on the shelf by the window, under their cloths, the four rye loaves I had shaped were\nstill rising, and the dough had lifted the cloth off the edge of the first basket by the width of\na finger.\n"
+  },
+  "verdict_schema": {
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+      "remove"
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+}