'Isn't the moonlight enough to see by?' I asked. I knew that from outside one cell of the beehive was brightly lit, like the eye of a domed prehistoric animal. I shut the door and she turned on the lights. When she slid open the wrestling-room door the rubbery blast from the heaters hit us. Around the groaning board track, I lurched after Utch. When we emerged into the moonlit cage, the pigeons stirred. Passing the little cave doors, I thought of the squash courts harboring bats. 'For Christ's sake, Utch,' I whispered, 'hold my hand!' There was a film of powder on the floor, a sort of deodorant designed for whole buildings. 'Well, surely he knows you,' I said, colliding with a low bench and greeting the cool cement floor with my cheek. 'Harvey?' I thought of a watchdog prowling in the dripping showers. Utch said, 'Ssshhh! Don't let Harvey hear us.' In the new gym my shin struck an open locker door, and a tin whang! echoed among the sweat-stiff socks hung up to dry, the hockey sticks leaning in corners, the kneepads and bandages at rest. In the darkness the great cage hulked like an abandoned beehive, its dangerous sleepers fled from their cells. Important Reasons for Having Mirrors in Elevators
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