I was a writer and I was beginning to have my efforts pay off. This was going to be my third novel. The first one I wrote was a big success--the secon... one not so much, just barely adequate. My publisher had come up with a decent advance and some advice when I showed him the plot outline for a new book.I had been working on this last book under a cloud of sadness and loneliness. He advised me to take a little more time on this manuscript and add more detailed descriptions. If I did this, it. Without looking, he could almost guarantee that there would beneedle tracks running up their arms. A bulge under the youngerone’s coat almost made him weep.Both of the girls were strangers to him. They were probably passingthrough, heading south to warmer climes, trying to escape thisparticularly vicious winter. He doubted he would ever see themagain. Directly after them came Granny Smith.Nobody knew the old lady’s real name. Trevor doubted that she evenknew. She answered to. More

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