|
|
Books for Sale |
|
DUSK had fallen, a nasty cold rain was beginning to do so. Beside the rain a mist was hanging over the streets of London. It looked as if a real November fog might set in before long. Along Dean Street, Soho, shuffled a hunchbacked man. He looked a pitiful sight, the rain dripping from his ragged old hat, the collar of his threadbare overcoat pulled up round his neck, the tattered ends of his trouser legs flapping against his legs as he walked. |