Darkness and quiet brought their own beauty to a place singularly lacking in attraction, and the moon, high in the clear night sky, even managed to make the house look as though it might possibly be more comfortable than a cold doorstep. Kitty knew well that this was an illusion, but just for a moment she toyed with the idea of stealing silently up the two filthy steps and pushing open the creaky wooden door with the missing panel, through which the naughtier of the neighbours’ children watched the Punch and Judy fights, rows and beatings in which Sary and Hector Drinkwater specialised. Facing Kitty then as she stepped through the doorway would be the Drop, a gaping hole in the floorboards into which generations of tenants had tipped the ash from their fires. It was really dangerous now that Sary was in the habit of ripping up floorboards whenever her need for a fire became urgent, because an unwary step could mean death by choking as you sank over your head in ash five or six feet deep.
