Florence Huyler read the number on the door. She wondered at the lack of light from within; the glass of the door was like a slab of ebony. For all that, she put out a hand to grasp the knob. In a city office building, ten stories up, one does not knock. Florence did not so much as allow the yielding door to make a sound. She turned the knob as one imagines a robber might turn the dial of a safe—slowly, silently.…
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