George was freezing. He huddled under the scant shelter of a lean-to, his arms wrapped uselessly around him, shivering away, and he was completely miserable. He watched the snow drift to the ground, relentless in its pursuit of burying the city. It was doing well. Fourteen centimetres had fallen in the last hour and a half, and the usual dirt and grime was now wiped clean by a white that was blinding. 
Half an hour earlier, a man rushed past him and shouted something about 'gett...