She had just managed to reach it, grabbing for the handle, when the enemy’s cracked command halted her. Then he put the paper by. “NO!” she said, at last, with something in her voice that reminded Ann Veronica of a sprung tennis-racket. Locked! He sped out to the corridor and went swiftly into the next room. He pushed her to his bed, little more than a cot, and pulled off her clothes. The fragrance of dryer sheets lay upon her like the snow that now drifted peacefully outside. The service began.
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