...of out-of-hours

The silence of the offices pleased him. He walked slowly through them, one after another, his footsteps echoing hollowly. The typewriters slept beneath their covers. The big cupboard doors had closed on their shelves of well ordered files. Ten years of work and experience. He felt as though he were visiting the vaults of a bank - there where there lies a weight of gold. But each of these registers had accumulated a finer stuff than gold - a stock of living energy. Living but asleep, like hoarded gold.

[Night Flight, Saint-Exupery, A. d.]