By Elizabeth George
Ny instances bestselling writer Elizabeth George serves up a century's worthy of extraordinary crime fiction penned through ladies. This veritable all-star workforce gives you stories of darkish deeds that may maintain you interpreting lengthy into the evening. integrated are those works: "A Jury of Her friends" via Susan Glaspell The summer season of individuals" by means of Shirley Jackson "The Irony of Hate" by means of Ruth Rendell "Country enthusiasts" through Nadine Gordimer "Wild Mustard" by way of Marcia Muller "Murder-Two" by way of Joyce Carol Oates A second at the area is an extraordinary deal with not just for lovers of crime fiction but in addition for a person who appreciates a skillfully written, deftly informed tale.
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Additional info for A Moment on the Edge: 100 Years of Crime Stories by Women
Mrs. Hale shot a look up at the sheriff’s wife. “Well, not now,” said Mrs. Peters. ” She sank into her chair. The county attorney did not heed her. “No sign at all of any one having come in from the outside,” he said to Peters, in the manner of continuing an interrupted conversation. “Their own rope. Now let’s go upstairs again and go over it, piece by piece. It would have to have been some one who knew just the—” The stair door closed behind them and their voices were lost. The two women sat motionless, not looking at each other, but as if peering into something and at the same time holding back.
Suddenly she leaned forward, looking intently at the cage. ” “I don’t know,” returned Mrs. ” But after she said it she reached over and swung the broken door. Both women watched it as if somehow held by it. ” Mrs. Hale asked, a gentler note in her voice. “Not till they brought her yesterday,” said the sheriff’s wife. “She—come to think of it, she was kind of like a bird herself. Real sweet and pretty, but kind of timid and—fluttery. ” That held her for a long time. Finally, as if struck with a happy thought and relieved to get back to everyday things, she exclaimed: “Tell you what, Mrs.
Replied the inspector. “Well, we’ve got his name and address. Better make a note of ’em. He might turn up again. Poisoning people so as they die in their baths, eh? That’s a pretty good ’un. ” 40 The Man Who Knew How The spring that year was a bad one—cold and foggy. It was March when Pender went down to an inquest at Deptford, but a thick blanket of mist was hanging over the river as though it were November. The cold ate into your bones. As he sat in the dingy little court, peering through the yellow twilight of gas and fog, he could scarcely see the witnesses as they came to the table.
A Moment on the Edge: 100 Years of Crime Stories by Women by Elizabeth George