“There are lines of warehouses and factories, rail bridges here and there, street after street of terrace houses each with its cream stone bay; and dotted among them gaunt, dispirited-looking pubs, their bar walls painted in nineteen-thirty green. Kaeti trotted down the road, admiring the fine summer evening. The sky was almost clear; a faint dappling of mackerel clouds low on the horizon but deep blue above, richening already with the first hint of dusk. And transparent somehow, as if you were ...looking on and on for ever. It was a funny sort of sky, she decided. Special. She glanced at her watch and speeded up slightly. She was late already; she’d nipped back to feed Mrs. Threadgold’s Arthur, but Arthur for his own good reasons had declined to be found and she’d wasted most of her supper break in consequence. She passed the line of little shops, turned right by the old bomb site with the big Moore O’Ferral hoardings. They’d never bothered to build on it again, so now it was a place where the stray cats had their nests and the Rose Bay Willow Herb still grew and the kids came Saturday mornings to build forts and chuck half bricks.MoreLessRead More Read Less
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