Chapter 12

⁠​​​‌​​​​‌‌‌​​​‌‌​​‌‌‌‌​​​‌​‌‌​‌‌​​​​‌‌‌​​​‌‌‌‌​‌​‌‌‌‌‌‌​‌‌‌‌‌‌‌​⁠The vile, raw fog tore your throat and ravaged your eyes. You could not see your feet. You stumbled in your walk over poor men’s graves.

The feel of Parker’s old trench-coat beneath your fingers was comforting. You had felt it in worse places. You clung on now for fear you should get separated. The dim people moving in front of you were like Brocken spectres.

“Take care, gentlemen,” said a toneless