165

Overtime stretched well past quitting time, and the office was filled only with the scratch of fountain pens — a late-night shift. I had eaten dinner, but it was the kind of hour when my brain needed sugar to keep running. I checked the clock and went down to the first floor of the building. There the Central Department attendants were waiting, arms full of bundles.

“Sorry to ask at such a late hour.”

“Not at all. I’m on duty tonight anyway, so it’s fine. Besides, it’s nice to get a tasty snack too.”

“Thank you.”

“Not at all. Everyone’s...