Laurence Harford emerged from the building into the cold night air and lit the cigarette hanging from the corner of his mouth. Discarding the match, he exhaled, absently watching the smoke blend with the shadows in the dimly lit lane. Moving slowly toward the stone archway and the street beyond, he stopped when a figure stepped into his path. As their eyes met, Laurence’s heart pumped, a sense of recognition and fear registering in his brain. Beads of sweat broke out across his brow, his cigarette fell to the wet flagstones and he lurched from the lane into the deserted street, the sound of uneven footsteps following behind.
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Monday, August 15, 2011
From "Murder At The Rocks" by Jill Paterson
Laurence Harford emerged from the building into the cold night air and lit the cigarette hanging from the corner of his mouth. Discarding the match, he exhaled, absently watching the smoke blend with the shadows in the dimly lit lane. Moving slowly toward the stone archway and the street beyond, he stopped when a figure stepped into his path. As their eyes met, Laurence’s heart pumped, a sense of recognition and fear registering in his brain. Beads of sweat broke out across his brow, his cigarette fell to the wet flagstones and he lurched from the lane into the deserted street, the sound of uneven footsteps following behind.
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