Quicksand
After a slight breakfast she made her way to the library, that ugly gray building, where was housed much knowledge and a little wisdom, on interminable shelves. The friendly person at the desk in the hall bestowed on her a kindly smile when Helga stated her business and asked for directions.
“The corridor to your left, then the second door to your right,” she was told.
Outside the indicated door, for half a second she hesitated, then braced herself and went in. In less than a quarter of an hour she came out, in surprised disappointment. “Library training“—“civil service”—“library school”—“classification”—“cataloguing”—“training class”—“examination”—“probation period”—flitted through her mind.
“How erudite they must be!” she remarked sarcastically to herself, and ignored the smiling curiosity of the desk person as she went through the hall to the street. For a long moment she stood on the high stone steps above
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