He held himself upright, but only just. With a kind of limpness, a paleness. She imagined that if she had shaken it, his hand would have been sweatily cold. But then he did reach out with a “Nice to meet you” and his skin was dry and cool- almost reassuring. Still, he retained that yellow, weak look of a tall daisy that had grown up striving to reach the sunlight, but never quite got enough. His eyes too were not bright, but rather two wide grey lakes of reflection. Whenever she met his gaze, all she saw was her own awkwardness. There were moments though -amongst the questions and nods and silences- moments when she felt a sudden tangible empathy reach out, like a warm hand, reach out and grasp her shoulder encouragingly. And it was these that got her through.