The street, when she’d found her way outside, was still very quiet. She looked up at Bigend’s building, but it was too tall to show her anything of his flat. Its footprint was smaller than its full perimeter, its lower floors tapering outward as they rose. In one of these were the slanted greenish glass windows of a gym, where residents in trim outfits were exercising on uniformly white machines. Like a detail in a Hugh Ferris drawing of some idealized urban future, she thought, but one that Ferris might never have come up with. Gain the glass-walled gymnasia and the benign white ghosts of factory machinery, but lose the high curvilinear glass bridges connecting adjacent towers.