Hetty and Elizabeth were discussing the air-raid drill that had happened the night before and how they’d heard train tracks had been bombed. The news had upset Hetty, and Elizabeth had only just managed to calm her down. They both turned at the knock upon their open door.
“I’m so sorry, am I interrupting?” asked the tall man who stood in the doorway. It was Marvin Asquith, a banker in his late forties whose two teenage daughters had come to the bureau on his behalf two months ago. They had wanted to see him remarry and be happy after losing their mother seven years before.
Hetty wiped at her cheeks hastily. “Mr. Asquith, do come in. You aren’t interrupting anything.” He had no doubt seen her crying, but he was too gentlemanly to inquire why. He smiled and removed his hat and coat before
