![]() ![]() ![]() It was tucked up in a little space underneath a book, so all I could see at first was its head. I was still catching my breath, in fact, when I saw the kitten huddled in the front left corner of the box. It was the kind of cold that made it almost painful to breathe. It was as cold in the box as it was outside, maybe colder, since the box was lined with metal. ![]() And on that night, of all nights, someone had jammed a book into return slot, wedging it open. The night before, the temperature had reached minus fifteen degrees, and that didn't take into account the wind, which cut under your coat and squeezed your bones. What I got instead was a blast of freezing air. ![]() But what kind? I got down on my knees, reached over the lid, and hoped for a chipmunk. It sounded like an old man clearing his throat.īut the opening at the top of the chute was only a few inches wide, so that would be quite a squeeze for an old man. That was when I heard it, a low rumble from under the metal cover. "I think there's an animal in the drop box." "I heard a noise from the drop box," Jean said. “Until one morning, one of the coldest mornings of the year, when I came in with the book cart and found Jean Hollis Clark, a fellow librarian, standing dead still in the middle of the staff room. ![]()
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