““Maybe.” Durell nodded. “Call a cab, Marcus.” He left Deirdre with Marcus, insisting that he had to go alone, and asked the cabbie to wait next to the ramp that led up to the Boardwalk. The lamp posts had great haloes of iridescence around them from the fog. Most of the shops and amusement piers that jutted out into the black ocean were tightly closed and dark. He heard the thin sound of a small drum and a flute from the only lighted area on the wide promenade; he turned that way, keeping c...lose to the boarded-up stores that featured cheap souvenir trinkets, salt-water taffy, auction houses, a quick-sketch portrait place, a bicycle rental shop, a drugstore that featured more junk dolls, pennants, and candy. Farther down the Boardwalk, perhaps two blocks away, was the front arcade of a towering hotel that had seen better and more prosperous days. All of the blinking, winking, eye-dazzling neon signs on the piers had been turned out. He walked slowly toward the dull, mindless reiteration of a small drum and the piping flutes.MoreLessRead More Read Less
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