Nobody ever walked across the bridge, not on a night like this. The rain was misty enough to be almo
Nobody ever walked across the bridge, not on a night like this. The rain was misty enough to be almost foglike, a cold gray curtain that separated me from the pale ovals of white that were faces locked behind the steamed-up windows of the cars that hissed by. Even the brilliance that was Manhattan by night was reduced to a few sleepy, yellow lights off in the distance. - One Lonely Night (1951), M. Spillane -- source link
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