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David Dickinson

Crime & Mystery Books for Sale

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Goodnight Sweet Prince - SIGNED - David Dickinson
2002 UK hardcover 1st edition, 1st impression, Constable & Robinson, London
A near fine unread book in near fine unclipped dust jacket
Signed on the title page by the author
No other names, inscriptions or stamps etc
Tightly bound and square, clean contents and cloth, usual light paper tan issues
The jacket has no loss or tears or damage
This sees the introduction of the Victorian investigator Lord Francis Powerscourt, this was an immediate success and the author became instantly collectable and his since held onto that status

A solid copy and a very highly recommended author
For Sale at 18 (approx $27) *11 - Delivery Information ~ Free & Subsidised ~ Please Check

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Susanna Jones     Candace Robb     Peter Robinson     MJ Trow    

The blinds were tightly drawn. The door was locked and bolted. Two lamps cast fitful light over the long table. At one end was a large pile of newspapers and magazines. Lined up along the table, in four untidy rows, were the letters of the alphabet, cut loosely from their pages. The hands moved awkwardly with the paste as they composed a new message. Quite often the hands spilt paste on to the table or on to the floor. The hands had always been bad at art at school, always bottom of the class. This Sunday afternoon another message was almost complete, capital letters used in the middle of words, full stops in the wrong place, the letters themselves set at irregular angles on the page. The artist began to giggle, quietly at first, then almost hysterically as the message was completed. Tomorrow the message would go to London. There it would be posted in an obscure West End postbox. As the hands tidied up the letters and opened the blinds once more, the giggling stopped. 'I've always thought London is much more interesting at this time of the morning/ said Rosebery to Powerscourt as the two men set off to walk from Rosebery's house in Berkeley Square to their meeting with Private Secretary Suter at Marlborough House. A thin rain was falling, dusting the hats of the wealthy and the caps of the poor. At a quarter to nine the streets were jammed, not with the carriages of the rich, but with the deliveries that made their life possible: hams, geese, truffles, oysters, cases of claret and champagne. Carts laden with coal rubbed up

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