Winter 1887 – Curse Weather

 

Mr. Chin lit his pipe and inhaled. The rank smell of cheap, too wet tobacco filled the room. He exhaled slowly and the small room seemed to grow more confined. He said, “I do not know who allowed the devil into this world. I do know what it wants and where it will strike next.” 

After he had not spoken for a few minutes I nudged Littlefield. “Pay him,” I said. 

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