Hell Is Too Crowded

Начало книги

To Matthew Brady, caught between the shadow lines of sleep and waking when strange things fill the mind, the face seemed to swim out of the fog, disembodied and luminous in the yellow glow of the street lamp. Once seen it was not easily forgotten, wedge-shaped with high cheekbones and deep-set, staring eyes.

He was conscious of the wrought-iron frame of the bench hard against his neck, of the light drizzle beading his face. He closed his eyes and took a deep breath. When he opened them again he was alone.

A ship moved down the Pool of London sounding its foghorn like the last of the dinosaurs lumbering aimlessly through a primeval swamp, alone in a world that was already alien.

Somehow, it seemed to sum up his own situation. He shivered slightly and reached for a cigarette. The packet was almost empty, but he fumbled around for a while and finally managed to light one. As he drew in the first lungful of smoke, Big Ben struck two, the sounds curiously muffled by the fog, and then there was silence.

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