Not a word of conversation.
Soon, Sandy Cruz came over with a notebook.
The first floor was convenient; Sandy Cruz walked straight here, without even disturbing the neighboring dormitory.
The door was ajar, he paused briefly, glanced inside, then lifted his distinctively jointed fingers and knocked on the door.
Knock, knock, knock.
The sound, neither light nor heavy, surprisingly attracted the attention of all four people inside.
Belinda Nichols was seated on her bed, poring over her notebook, struggling to understand some of the data-related content.
Flossie Wright was applying safflower oil.
Jessie Grain was soaking her feet.
Mariana Buck was sorting through a wardrobe, organizing clothes.
Upon hearing the noise, the four turned their gaze towards the door.
