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332 pages, Paperback
First published January 1, 1999
He took a long time to answer, lit another stolen Camel, one of the last. 'The difference between us,' he said, 'is that I'm just doing this for the money. You're another matter entirely.'
I went over to the printer, watched the paper being spat into the collating trays, felt the ache growing in my back, the pointment of pain advancing down my legs.
I poured a finger of the peaty liquid, dusted it with water, sat down opposite the old man. There was something about the room, the panelling, the armchairs, the soft lights. At the end of a long and fruitless day, my lunch engagement excepted, it brought a little peace to the soul.