Outside, above the entrance, dusty tricolours were hanging limply from flagpoles. In the lobby, an enormous chandelier loomed overhead, trembling on account of the Dublin traffic outside. I reached the front desk and caught the attention of a woman in an alice band.
“Could you help me?”
“No,” she said firmly. Then turning to a woman who was buffing her nails, she said with infinite weariness, “Can you do this one?”
A few minutes later I was in the lift. I pressed a grimy button. The metal box clanked upwards. It stopped. I alighted.
I found the door of…
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