The building had stood strong until now, chosen by the Wasteland Wanderers at a glance to serve as their headquarters—a testament to its quality of construction, for shortcuts in the workmanship were certainly not taken.
Every pillar was driven a meter deep.
During the laying of the foundation, they must have thought the steel bars were free of charge.
Hence, the quality was excellent, the soundproofing, particularly strong.
No one knew that inside a room on the third floor, the soprano couldn't resist bursting into song, her youthful fingers rhythmically strumming on the windowsill, lost in her music.
Beneath the table was a yellowed booklet that looked like a collection of ancient poems; she drew one out and began to play and sing along: "Year's woes not yet quelled this night's journey home—Lying awake, forlorn mirth scorned by Nan Liang—"
...
