Chapter 8
The cold outside hit John like a solid wall of ice, with wind determined to find every single inch of skin and scour it raw. He’d somehow managed to convince himself it wouldn’t be as bad as he remembered from just a few hours ago.
In fact, it wasn’t as bad. It felt several degrees worse.
Mr. Sutherland’s line of taxis lingered, all the cars painted yellow with bright display boxes on top, white plumes floating up from all those tailpipes.
Branwen still held John’s hand, and she stared up at him now.
“I know you’re not used to this kind of nasty wind, John. Will you go back inside and let me get the car?”
John smiled, but he made sure not to expose his teeth, lest the bitter wind crack them in his mouth.
“Thank you for the offer, but I’m sure you know I’ll refuse. Let’s ju
