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"
Don
’
t
forget
,
"
she
said
.
"
I
can
always
find
room
.
People
come
back
to
me
year
after
year
,
sailors
and
drummers
.
"
"
I
’
ll
remember
.
Good
night
.
"
She
looked
after
him
until
he
was
out
the
front
door
and
down
the
cement
steps
to
the
sidewalk
.
He
walked
to
the
corner
and
looked
at
the
clock
in
a
jeweller
’
s
window
—
seven
-
thirty
.
He
set
out
walking
rapidly
eastward
,
through
a
district
of
department
stores
and
specialty
shops
,
and
then
through
the
wholesale
produce
district
,
quiet
now
in
the
evening
,
the
narrow
streets
deserted
,
the
depot
entrances
closed
with
wooden
bars
and
wire
netting
.
He
came
at
last
to
an
old
street
of
three
-
storey
brick
buildings
.
Pawn
-
shops
and
second
-
hand
tool
dealers
occupied
the
ground
floors
,
while
failing
dentists
and
lawyers
had
offices
in
the
upper
two
flights
.
Jim
looked
at
each
doorway
until
he
found
the
number
he
wanted
.
He
went
in
a
dark
entrance
and
climbed
the
narrow
stairs
,
rubber
-
treaded
,
the
edges
guarded
with
strips
of
brass
.
A
little
night
light
burned
at
the
head
of
the
steps
,
but
only
one
door
in
the
long
hall
showed
a
light
through
its
frosted
glass
.
Jim
walked
to
it
,
looked
at
the
"
Sixteen
"
on
the
glass
,
and
knocked
.
A
sharp
voice
called
,
"
Come
in
.
"
Jim
opened
the
door
and
stepped
into
a
small
,
bare
office
containing
a
desk
,
a
metal
filing
cabinet
,
an
army
cot
and
two
straight
chairs
.
On
the
desk
sat
an
electric
cooking
plate
,
on
which
a
little
tin
coffee
-
pot
bubbled
and
steamed
.
A
man
looked
solemnly
over
the
desk
at
Jim
.
He
glanced
at
a
card
in
front
of
him
.
"
Jim
Nolan
?
"
he
asked
.
"
Yes
.
"
Jim
looked
closely
at
him
,
a
small
man
,
neatly
dressed
in
a
dark
suit
.
His
thick
hair
was
combed
straight
down
on
each
side
from
the
top
in
a
vain
attempt
to
cover
a
white
scar
half
an
inch
wide
that
lay
horizontally
over
the
right
ear
.
The
eyes
were
sharp
and
black
,
quick
nervous
eyes
that
moved
constantly
about
—
from
Jim
to
the
card
,
and
up
to
a
wall
calendar
,
and
to
an
alarm
clock
,
and
back
to
Jim
.
The
nose
was
large
,
thick
at
the
bridge
and
narrow
at
the
point
.
The
mouth
might
at
one
time
have
been
full
and
soft
,
but
habitual
muscular
tension
had
drawn
it
close
and
made
a
deep
line
on
each
lip
.
Although
the
man
could
not
have
been
over
forty
,
his
face
bore
heavy
parenthetical
lines
of
resistance
to
attack
.
His
hands
were
as
nervous
as
his
eyes
,
large
hands
,
almost
too
big
for
his
body
,
long
fingers
with
spatulate
ends
and
flat
,
thick
nails
.
The
hands
moved
about
on
the
desk
like
the
exploring
hands
of
a
blind
man
,
feeling
the
edges
of
paper
,
following
the
corner
of
the
desk
,
touching
in
turn
each
button
on
his
vest
.
The
right
hand
went
to
the
electric
plate
and
pulled
out
the
plug
.
Jim
closed
the
door
quietly
and
stepped
to
the
desk
.
"
I
was
told
to
come
here
,
"
he
said
.
Suddenly
the
man
stood
up
and
pushed
his
right
hand
across
.
"
I
’
m
Harry
Nilson
.
I
have
your
application
here
.
"
Jim
shook
hands
.
"
Sit
down
,
Jim
.
"
The
nervous
voice
was
soft
,
but
made
soft
by
an
effort
.
Jim
pulled
the
extra
chair
close
and
sat
down
by
the
desk
.
Harry
opened
a
desk
drawer
,
took
out
an
open
can
of
milk
,
the
holes
plugged
with
matches
,
a
cup
of
sugar
and
two
thick
mugs
.
"
Will
you
have
a
cup
of
coffee
?
"
