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Neither of us spoke for a while. Few people were about at this time of the
morning, just an occasional stray dog returning from a night’s foraging in
the city’s dustbins. The road unrolled itself before us, lined with
warehouses and factories, many now derelict. As we crossed the canal and
turned right into the road leading out to the motorway he seemed to relax,
settled down further in his seat, and ran his hand through his short fair
hair.