Chapter 1 He’d stood in that doorway probably a hundred times before, and shouldn’t have been surprised. The real surprise was that he always was. Over on the peeling whitewash of the window-side wall, just above the old Boxford lathe, the well-oiled centrefold of the resident, very buxom and scantily clad lady, still hung by the same rusted nail in the lintel; thermal long-johns and a hot water bottle would have been more practical in the workshop. It had taken a minute for his eyes to grow accustomed to the half-light that struggled through chicken wire and grease; but she…

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