Martia opened the hotel door and was immediately bathed in light and warmth and dryness. This was the way the world was supposed to be. She’d stayed in many hotels in her life. This was home.
The lobby looked like that of many small hotels, though not usually of the class Martia frequented. Half a dozen comfortable, though not luxurious, chairs were spread around the open area in pairs, with a conversation table between each pair. Each table held a large lamp, and there was indirect overhead lighting as well. A once-expensive but worn carpet covered the floor between the door and the registration desk. The lobby was empty except for a woman in a chair by a front window, and a bearded young man behind the registration desk.
Martia walked across the lobby with as much dignity as she could
