She was still talking. Roger knew she was, because he could hear her incessant little voice through the door. Not for the first time (and definitely not for the last), Roger wished he had his wand. Or a wand. Any wand, really, anything that would block her out.
At least she was polite enough not to simply have opened his door. It wasn't as though the thing were locked. Still, he knew he would enjoy his book that much more if she wasn't there to poke holes in his concentration.
He looked up from his book at the door for a moment, as he considered answering her question. No, he was not afraid of spiders. But why give her the satisfaction of knowing he was listening? And so, without saying a word, Roger returned his gaze to the page and pretended to read - because pretending was, unfortunately, as much as he could do. The words were there, he could see the scratches on the page, but couldn't make any sense of them, his thoughts constantly pulled back to the girl sitting outside his door and talking to him about all sorts of rubbish he gave not a shit about.