“The locks are simply to insure The Receiver’s privacy because he needs concentration,” she explained.
“It would be difficult if citizens wandered in, looking for the Department of Bicycle Repair, or something.”
Jonas laughed, relaxing a little. The woman seemed very friendly, and it was true—in fact it was a joke throughout the community—
that the Department of Bicycle Repair, an unimportant little office, was relocated so often that no one ever knew where it was.
“There is nothing dangerous here,” she told him. “But,” she added, glancing at the wall clock, “he doesn’t like to be kept waiting.”
Jonas hurried through the door and found himself in a comfortably furnished living area. It was not unlike his own family unit’s dwelling.
Furniture was standard throughout the community: practical, sturdy, the function of each piece clearly defined.
A bed for sleeping. A table for eating. A desk for studying.
All of those things were in this spacious room, though each was slightly different from those in his own dwelling.
The fabrics on the upholstered chairs and sofa were slightly thicker and more luxurious;
the table legs were not straight like those at home, but slender and curved, with a small carved decoration at the foot.
The bed, in an alcove at the far end of the room, was draped with a splendid cloth embroidered over its entire surface with intricate designs.
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