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Esther McCoy                             9

on shortcuts.  The sliding lights above the drafting boards were hung from cords between the paired beams, and the shades were made of parchment paper held by metal clips in a cone shape over the bulbs.  
     My board was pushed up against the locked door to Pauline's kitchen I discovered when I heard a burst of song through the wall.  she was singing to her cats, "Pussums, Pussums," she sang.  Urging them to be patient, she began a telephone conversation in a high lilting voice that might have been in the same room with me.  It must be late, I thought--how late, I didn't know for I never wore a watch.  I'd hardly had time to think about the house I was working on.  I'd worked with my eye only, the eye making the connections between plan and elevation.  I had sanded my pencil point without ever noticing how dirty the office was; I had moved the triangles along the T-square without noticing that they were so smeared with graphite they were no longer transparent.  "Pussums! Pussums!" Pauline's telephone conversation was over.  Dreading Schindler's return, I thought of walking out.  But if I did I should never know where architects hid missing dimensions.  [[strikethrough]] So [[/strikethrough]] ^[[As]] I stood up, I dislodged the tin can into which pencils were sanded. Graphite spilled onto the cement floor.  The sand paddle swung by its cord against my knee.  I tried to wipe the floor.
     It was at that moment that Schindler returned.  He was preceded by a large German shepherd dog.  Prince lunged through the drafting room and out the canvas sliding doors to the patio,
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