She flew up the covered stairs and knocked upon his door. She stuffed her violin in its case and rushed into the hallway towards John, who stood outside of 118 with his arms crossed. "Most persons would have guessed my meaning. They weren’t very chummy with one another but Sheila 113 didn’t expect much from a foster daughter as long as she worked hard, very hard, to earn her keep. It was long and narrow, a well-lit, wellventilated, quiet gallery of small tables and sinks, pervaded by a thin smell of methylated spirit and of a mitigated and sterilized organic decay.
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