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23 pages, Paperback
First published July 1, 1976
The pigeon pecked me again, again, again. A cold blast of wind struck me, rocking me to the limit of balance; pads of my fingers scraped at the bland stone, and I came to rest with my left cheek pressed against the wall, breathing heavily.
Cressner couldn't have conceived of worse torture if he had planned it for ten years. One peck was not so bad. Two or three were a little more. But that damned bird must have pecked me sixty times before I reached the wrought-iron railing of the penthouse opposite Cressner's.