She waited a few minutes, then greeted the burly doorman who stood as the building’s lone sentry. ‘Might have forgiven him,’ he muttered under his breath, ‘if he hadn’t taken the babe. Frequently he would take up a box of talc and send a shower down his back, or fill his palms with the powder and rub his face and arms and hands. At Christmas he gave her a set of a small edition of Meredith’s novels, very prettily bound in flexible leather, being guided in the choice of an author, as he intimated, rather by her preferences than his own.
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