The Thousand Deaths of Mr Small (2013)
“Then a match flared and Mr. Goodridge, followed by his horrible shadow, made his way through the narrow lanes between shadowy piles of mysterious lumber, and then became invisible until, with the noise of a man spitting out an orange pip an antiquated gas-burner relieved itself of a jet of yellow flame shaped like a duck’s foot. The unhealthy light of this feeble flame seemed to be shivering with cold in spite of the stuffy heat—and as Mr. Goodridge turned the gas higher it made a chattering no...ise as it tremulously slapped and scratched the great black face of the night. “Do come in, my dear sir. This is not exactly the palace at Versailles, or Windsor Castle; Versailles and Windsor, after all, are open to the general public. This place is not. His Majesty the King receives. I do not. So, although I cannot offer you velvet arm-chairs or Gobelin tapestries——” Mr. Goodridge conducted his guest into the room and shut—and double-bolted—the door.
By then Solly Schwartz’s eyes had adjusted themselves to that wired, gaslight-haunted half-dark, and, hugging his beer bottles and holding his packet of fish and chips in such a manner that the oil it exuded would not stain his cuff, he looked about him.MoreLess
By then Solly Schwartz’s eyes had adjusted themselves to that wired, gaslight-haunted half-dark, and, hugging his beer bottles and holding his packet of fish and chips in such a manner that the oil it exuded would not stain his cuff, he looked about him.MoreLess
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