Chapter 14
The crusted backside of the textile mill sat squat and square atop the white street. Both the street and the bricks glowed under the wet sodium lamps, the yellow fog thin and leaning on the lampposts. Most of the previous days’ snow had burnt that morning, but (Eleanor pulled her coat tight around her shoulders) she imagined it was only a matter of hours before the next fall.
The sodium lamps hummed.
Everything was very clean, she thought. As if it were swept.
Reginald Sly was standing on the far side of the street. He examined both ends before slipping his hands in his pockets and walking the asphalt, eyes half-closed, humming. His big boots tromped over the walls. He sounded like at least four men crossing the street.
With one hand he dropped a fat duffel bag under the be
