Chapter 38
McDuff pushed the edges of the scratchy wool blanket against the window in his room, holding his hand a few inches away to catch any lingering drafts. He thought the fabric had been green a long time ago. Countless washes may have faded the color to an unpleasant dull brown, but the prickly irritation against his skin remained strong as ever.
Satisfied with his crude insulation efforts, he arranged his shoes along the ledge to hold everything in place.
Heat from downstairs rooms would soon reduce him to wanting to claw the makeshift curtains down in search of relief, but so early in the season his fingers were numb from the chill.
For some reason he didn’t feel strange about wearing Michael’s clothing anymore. A heavy, long-sleeved shirt and sturdy work pants that were only
