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Florence Ford

Detective Fiction Books for Sale

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Information on descriptions and condition

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Shadow on the House - Florence Ford
1958 UK hardback first edition, first impression, Collins Crime Club, London
A near fine book in VG+ unclipped dust wrapper
No names inscriptions or stamps etc
Jacket shows small chip to spine
A lovely copy of the authors rare first book
For Sale at £SOLD (approx $SOLD) * - free delivery worldwide !

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The Ninth Candle - Florence Ford
1960 UK hardback first edition, first impression, Collins Crime Club, London
A VG+ book in VG+ price clipped dust wrapper
No names inscriptions or stamps etc
Jacket shows minor shelf wear to extremeties
A nice copy, the only on ewe have seen
For Sale at £SOLD (approx $SOLD) * - free delivery worldwide !
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If you like this author then the following may be of interest

Freeman Wills Crofts         John Rhode         Cyril Hare         Antonia Fraser    

Synopsis
DALE HAD BEEN in the house for less than twenty-four hours when she realised that something was wrong. And this time it was no vague doubt, to cross her mind like mist and drift away, almost before she could feel its chill. This time she was sure. Yet when she came she had been happy. The long hot hours of driving had not tired her and even the weary heat-soaked city, snarled in ill-tempered late afternoon traffic, had seemed a pleasant place to reach. The police officer who whistled shrilly and glared at her, the people who swarmed like angry ants across the streets in front of her car, had been her friends. She turned into the river road and her eyes began to shine. From, the time when she had been a small child her first glimpse of the river had meant that something wonderful—Thanksgiving, Christmas, or just seeing Mark again— was about to happen. It was a wide brown river, moving with deceptive laziness between the green hills of Ohio and Kentucky—deceptive as a caged cat, she thought, with affectionate tolerance. That river could rise, swift and hungry, to swallow or carry away everything within its reach. It was a muddy river, often pretending to be blue or grey, a beautiful and sometimes terrible river, but very quiet now beneath the hot June sky. Just placidly and endlessly and inexorably on its way to the Mississippi.

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