Читать книгу The Death of Dalziel: A Dalziel and Pascoe Novel - Reginald Hill - Страница 8

never much of a street

west—the old wool mill a prison block in dry blood brick its staring windows now blinded by boards its clatter and chatter a distant echo through white haired heads

east—six narrow houses under one weary roof huddling against the high embankment that arrows southern trains into the city’s northern heart

few passengers ever notice Mill Street

never much of a street

in winter’s depth a cold crevassespring and autumn much the same

but occasionallyon a still summer day

with sun soaring high in a cloudless skyMill Street becomesdesert canyon overbrimming with heat