On Friday afternoons the mood in the typing pool was a gathering storm. Heads bent tensely over keyboards. Machines clacked. High on the wall hung a big clock like a cold sun above the room. As the hour hand moved toward five the atmosphere became electric. Edith’s supervisor, Miss Grett, running the show from behind her desk felt it, too, though all she ever did was take a quick, furtive glance at herself in the small mirror she kept in her…
