Forty-ThreeIsabella found Hiram Williams in a boarding house in the least desirable part of town, and the stink of sweat and cigarette smoke that hit her in the face as she followed the tough-faced manager into Hiram’s room left her in no doubt he was occupying one of the least desirable corners.
He was propped up on stained pillows, his yellow-tinged horny nails grasping grubby sheets up to his neck, gnarly fingers clutching the fabric. The face that peered over the linen was ashen and furrowed with dark lines; sweat beaded his brow. Maintaining his breathing was laborious work, and the noise of it filled the stuffy room that was not much bigger than a coyote hole, a steam train sound of wheezing and puffing that ground on without respite.
The proud man with tired eyes who always gamely
