Monday, 20 April 2020


           Spade crossed the sidewalk between iron-railed hatchways that opened above bare ugly stairs, went to the parapet, and resting his hands on the damp coping, looked down into Stockton Street. An automobile popped out of the tunnel beneath him with a roaring swish, as if it had been blown out, and ran away. Not far from the tunnel's mouth a man was hunkered on his heels before a billboard that held advertisements of a moving picture and a gasoline, across the front of a gap between two store-buildings.

excerpt from
Death in the Fog
Dashiell Hammett

Kyriakos Mauridis


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