“The sky hung heavy with low grey cloud, promising another downpour. He had taken the precaution of setting out with an umbrella and his shoes were in good repair. His sour expression had nothing to do with the weather forecast. The thought of the type of person he would encounter at the house in Adelaide Road made his skin crawl. The way they looked at him, sizing him up with their filthy eyes, imagining him in the buff, no doubt, licking their disgusting lips at the thought of their filthy han...ds all over him. It was enough to make any decent man vomit. If it rained, good. It might wash him clean afterwards. Perhaps God would even send a thunderbolt to burn the place down. After Inchball had got out of there, of course. That was a thought – what if God decided to punish the perverts while he was still in there interviewing them? Bloody typical, he decided that would be. Bloody typical of my luck. So it was just as well he didn’t believe in God. Not when you got down to it. Not when you thought it through, good and proper.MoreLessRead More Read Less
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