spockck

 Jarvis the doorman rather liked his job. When not called upon to mind the door, a service that was only required a dozen or so times daily, he was afforded the opportunity to simply sit and read. He hadn’t been so avid a reader since his boyhood, when his schoolmaster demanded it of him. He had to be there anyway, he thought, so he might as well use the time productively. That was how it started. It was late. Very late. He would have quite liked to have gone to bed about an hour ago, but he knew better. The nephew of the woman in 87B was still out, and he would make a dreadful row when he finally blew back in. So instead he sat and r