"Why?" he asked. "After all, he is a bureaucrat. How did you yourself react—like a woman, no?"
He helped her down. They walked within a double row of mountain laurels to the coffee machine.
"I'd forgotten all about the bathrobe," she said. "Black for me."
"One day soon," he muttered, "they'll build him a mushroom he'll never see the end of. Sandwich? Anything?"
"No." She took the warm plastic cup and sipped. It was bad coffee. Far below, a snort of traffic echoed down First Avenue. "I've only been here once before. I'm a bit lower-echelon for the Administrative roof."
"Who isn't?"
She looked past the white-on-red Emergency Exit sign to a wrought-iron gate in the hedge facing the river. "Look, the Silvertongue factory is all lit up. Every single window on the top floor."
"I should think so. You mean you don't know?"
"Know what?"
"My heavens, the fate of man's grasp on reality is being decided tonight! Congress was still in special session at five A.M.—still is, as far as I know."