Anders saw that the other woman, her friend, was looking in the same direction. She sucked in her cheeks but stared past him and said nothing. “I just think it’s a pretty lousy way to treat your customers.” If they’re not chopping off the wrong leg, or bombing your ancestral village, they’re closing their positions.” She turned to Anders and added, confident of his accord, “One of those little human touches that keep us coming back.”Īnders had conceived his own towering hatred of the teller, but he immediately turned it on the presumptuous crybaby in front of him. The women in front of Anders broke off their conversation and watched the teller with hatred. With the line still doubled around the rope, one of the tellers stuck a Position Closed sign in her window and walked to the back of the bank, where she leaned against a desk and began to pass the time with a man shuffling papers. He was never in the best of tempers anyway, Anders-a book critic known for the weary, elegant savagery with which he dispatched almost everything he reviewed. Anders couldn’t get to the bank until just before it closed and now he was stuck behind two women whose loud, stupid conversation put him in a murderous temper.
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