“His lanky form was sprawled feet-first across his desk, and he drummed his fingertips on his chair arms as he thought. The battered typewriter upon the desk had clearly been rudely pushed aside in favor of the telephone at some point in the recent past, and its situation had not improved since. He stared at the wall a moment, deep in thought. Through the frosted pane of glass in his door, he could see there wasn’t much light left on in the outer offices. It was late, and in the evenings the Chr...onicle carried no more than a skeleton staff on the City Desk for emergencies. Deep in the bowels of the great paper, the real work continued. Mighty presses were rolling, churning out bales of ink-stained hyperbole for the Morning Edition, but after hours, the Editorial Department was sleepy at best. At length, he shook his head a little, as if brushing aside the mote of a notion that had held him rapt, lowered his feet to the floor and turned without standing to reach for his hat behind him. He almost jumped out of his skin at the sight of the girl in the grey catsuit crouched on his window ledge, watching him silently.MoreLessRead More Read Less
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