Gerda's steps slowed on the top three stairs.

There was no one to

notice her pause or the small weary straightening movement of her
shoulders before she inserted her key in the door of number 27. There
was never anyone to notice in the quiet, discreetly lit corridors of
Grafton Mansions. People lived there, many people, behind the satinmaple
doors and muted pastel decor, presumably known by name as
well as number to the uniformed porter who nodded gravely each
morning and evening to Gerda, but people were residents in Grafton
Mansions, not neighbours.
The door