"'Acold night,' Cubbitt said. The old gentleman swivelled his eyes on him like opera glasses and went on coughing: hack, hack, hack: the vocal chords dry as straw. Somewhere out at sea a violin began to play: it was like a sea beast mourning and stretching towards the shore." The book is Graham Greene's "Brighton Rock"; the violin is playing, unseen through sea mist, in the concert hall on the West Pier. Both Brighton's piers have starring roles in the story: they are the stages where killings are discussed, threats made, fortunes told. Savage gang warfare is intercut with candy floss and penny-in-the-slot machines. Laughter keeps pace with horror. Life is at its bawdiest and most reckless, but death lurks everywhere. This is the essence of piers.
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