Jack Vettriano Lines of Sacrifice

Jack Vettriano Lines of SacrificeJack Vettriano legs ElevenJack Vettriano Lazy Hazy DaysJack Vettriano La Fille a la MotoJack Vettriano La Fille a la Moto II
rough wooden wall until he came to the door. This time he took no chances, but uncorked his oil can and let a silent drop fall on to the hinges.
A moment later he was through. A rat, idly patrolling the draughty passage beyond, had to stop itself from swallowing its parapet a few feet away.
He was certain he had made no noise. He'd have to swear that the examiner heard the sound of his gaze falling on him.
The old man raised his bald head.own tongue as he floated past. There was another doorway at the end, and a maze of musty storerooms until he found a stairway. He judged himself to be about thirty yards from the trapdoor. There hadn't been any flues that he could see. There ought to be a clear shot across the roof. He hunkered down and pulled out his knife roll, its velvet blackness making a darker oblong in the shadows. He selected a Number Five, not everyone's throwing knife, but worthwhile if you had the trick of it. Shortly afterwards his head rose very carefully over the edge of the roof, one arm bent behind it but ready to uncurl in a complex interplay of forces that would combine to send a few ounces of steel gliding across the night. Mericet was sitting by the trapdoor, looking at his clipboard. Teppic's eyes swivelled to the oblong of the plank bridge, stored meticulously against the