“Holy
Mother of God!” Rose exclaimed, hugging her shoulders. “Then could one of you
gentleman please get it going before we turn to ice?”
“Look,
the note says he’ll be here in twenty minutes …” Rank began irritably.
“It’s
already been more than twenty minutes,” I butted in.
“Surely
the Secretary will thank us for warming the room,” Rose declared.
“They
do seem kind of busy around here,” I began doubtfully. Then I brightened up. “It
will show our initiative!”
Rank
looked stern.
“It
will show presumption.” There was an edge of worry in his voice. “Let it be.”
I
wavered.
“Do
you really think we shouldn’t?”
“Oh,
for the love of Saint Michael!” the girl exclaimed. “Bob, don’t listen to him.
I’m about to freeze! Do you really think it will matter much, one way or the
other?”
I
looked at Rank. He withdrew from the argument with disdain.
“Do
what you like.” He crossed his arms. “I’ll have nothing to do with it.”
I
nodded my head. I took out my tinderbox, set it on top of the stove, and began
the complicated process of trying to make a spark. In the bright morning light,
there were no sources of flame already burning, neither lamp or candle, and I
was not about to go poking my nose up and down the halls in search of fire and possibly
miss the return of Mr. Williams.
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