We
entered the lobby, a long hall with a row of plain doorways on either side,
staircases in the middle of the rows of doors, and at the very back a reception
desk, like a hotel. People were moving to and fro, in and out, in a busy,
almost bewildering manner. There were more staircases to either side of the
desk, marked with signs and a velvet rope, as if to cordon them off from the
common public.
Behind
the desk was a neat man with dark hair well slicked back, who was directing the
traffic. Everything about him was brisk: his manners, his clothes, his voice. His
movements, while quick, were unhurried. The traffic around him was constant, and
the people he directed, depending on their apparent station, deferential,
casual, or businesslike. Although he was handling it all in a calm, decisive
manner, there was a hint of the harried in his voice as he addressed each one.
Pa
sauntered up to the desk in a familiar manner and I followed more meekly at his
side. I noticed a proud smile starting to grow on his face as we got nearer,
though if it was about showing me off to his work or his work off to me, I
couldn’t tell. We got in line behind the busy throng. As it slowly cleared and Pa
moved to the front of the line, the man behind the desk’s face lit up in sudden
welcome.
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