Lenor, then, had been disappointed by Love. She had (afterward) been disappointed by hate as well, and the experience had drained her for thirteen years, leaving her a woman—a tastefully, an inexpensively, a sometimes not very neatly dressed woman—happy to arrive at her desk early every weekday morning and more than content to remain half an hour late when any reason to do so could be contrived. They said, “She runs the place,” and she knew and enjoyed it and despised them because it was true; you know her. In the evening she watched TV or read, and only weekends, during the thirteen years,
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