 The Last of Her Kind
Oh, that's right, the telephone. Adrienne remembered that Maman had had to use those at work sometimes, back when she was still a muggle journalist. She had a few vague memories of a toy 'fellytone' when she was a kid, but thinking about her parents and her childhood was already making bitterness rise in her throat like bile. She shoved it all down and tried to focus on the teacher.
Alexander Bell. 1847. Edinburgh. Right. For all that Adrienne didn't care about this class, she still took fairly diligent notes, jotting down everything Professor Moxley said into a notebook page neatly labelled with her name and the date. She didn't have much to add that the other three hadn't already said, but raised her hand nonetheless.
"People wouldn't be as afraid to leave the place they grew up in, yeah? They knew they'd be able to ring someone up and talk to them quickly, so it didn't matter as much if they were around their families for their whole lives."
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