Thousand: Six Hundred Thirty-Nine

The hall the girl moves through on her duties has always been dim, and stepping into one of the white rooms a blast of brilliance, however monotonous or irritating that which the light embraces. The fogged-out room retains this brilliance, if it has lost all detail. When she pushes the door a little, teases the fog or herself with a sliver of egress, the gap is also a line of light. The hall is quiet. Standing directly under one of the fluorescent tubes in a ceiling fixture the silence is bothered by a faint buzz. Opening one of the rooms,