Chapter Twenty-One
It was turning cold again in Outer Island, the wind whipping about in a frenzy sent drafty chills through windows and cracks. So much earlier than other years. The whores were begging to be on the floor where it was always warmer than the breezy rooms on the perimeter of the building.
Delila returned to the chilly climate, surprised to find her assignment had changed for some unknown reason. She was back on the main floor in her rose-colored dress and some nights dressed in a leather corset that showed off her nether ring. Degas wasn’t paying attention to her, and she didn’t know if that was a blessing, or something to be worried about.
“How was your visit?” Degas asked her, when he finally had her returned to him days later.
“It went well,” she said.
“I understand
