The middle of things is written by J. S. Fletcher and the book starts with a chapter that contains Viner's aunt, Miss Bethia Penkridge, who had an insatiable appetite for fiction. She had no taste for the psychological or erotic; what she loved was a story which began with crime and ended with a detection. Nothing pleased her better than to go to bed with a brain titivated with the mysteries of the last three chapters. A dead silence fell on the room, broken only by the crackling of logs in the grate. The silvery chime of the clock on the mantelpiece brought her work and her words to a summary conclusion. Unconsciously Viner walked back close to his own Square, but on the opposite side to that by which he had left it. He was about to turn into a passage, a dark affair set between high walls when a young man darted hurriedly out of it. Viner often walked through that passage at night and had thought more than once that after nightfall the doors looked as if they had never been opened, never shut. It was queer, he reflected, that he scarcely ever remembered meeting anybody in that passage.
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Joseph Smith Fletcher (1863 - 1935) was an English journalist and author. He wrote more than 230 books on a wide variety of subjects, both fiction and non-fiction and was one of the most prolific English writers of detective fiction. At age 20, Fletcher began working in journalism, as a sub-editor in London. He subsequently returned to his native Yorkshire, where he worked first on the Leeds Mercury using the pseudonym A Son of the Soil and then as a special correspondent for the Yorkshire Post covering Edward VII's coronation in 1902. Fletcher's first books published were poetry. He then moved on to write numerous works of historical fiction and history, many dealing with Yorkshire, which led to his selection as a fellow of the Royal Historical Society.
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Paperback. Zustand: new. Paperback. The middle of things is written by J. S. Fletcher and the book starts with a chapter that contains Viner's aunt, Miss Bethia Penkridge, who had an insatiable appetite for fiction. She had no taste for the psychological or erotic; what she loved was a story which began with crime and ended with a detection. Nothing pleased her better than to go to bed with a brain titivated with the mysteries of the last three chapters. A dead silence fell on the room, broken only by the crackling of logs in the grate. The silvery chime of the clock on the mantelpiece brought her work and her words to a summary conclusion. Unconsciously Viner walked back close to his own Square, but on the opposite side to that by which he had left it. He was about to turn into a passage, a dark affair set between high walls when a young man darted hurriedly out of it. Viner often walked through that passage at night and had thought more than once that after nightfall the doors looked as if they had never been opened, never shut. It was queer, he reflected, that he scarcely ever remembered meeting anybody in that passage. Shipping may be from our Sydney, NSW warehouse or from our UK or US warehouse, depending on stock availability. Artikel-Nr. 9789357275613
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