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Gerald Verner

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Thirsty Evil - Gerald Verner
1945 UK hardback first edition, 1st impression, John Westhouse, London
A VG+ book in VG+ unclipped dust jacket
No names, inscriptions or stamps
Tightly bound and square, clean covers and text block
The dust cover has just a couple of minor rubs
A classic English country village murder mystery
A lovely copy with nice map illustrated endpapers
For Sale at £SOLD (approx $SOLD) * - free delivery worldwide !

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Manning O'Brine     Anthony Prior     E MA Radford     Clayton Rawson    

Synopsis
PETER CHARD STOPPED IN THE WELCOME SHADOW OF A TREE to mop his perspiring face and light a cigarette. It was very hot. The scorched road, dipping steeply before him between parallel hedges, to join the narrow High Street, reflected the glare of the sun and made his eyes ache. "One ha'porth of shade to an intolerable deal of blazing sunshine/' he thought, and wished all over again that he had not promised his sister, Margaret, to attend the vicarage garden party that June afternoon. The green coolness and quiet of his own garden at the Gate House would have been so much more pleasant. But the Reverend Harold Banbury's annual tea party was an event in the village of Bishop's Thatcham, ranking in importance with the flower show and the cricket match with Little Pagton, and Margaret had been insistent. "You needn't stop," she said firmly, when he offered the last of a series of rather feeble excuses at luncheon. "But you must put in an appearance. After all, we live in the place and these things have to be done." To avoid further argument, which he knew in advance would be useless anyhow, Peter had weakly capitulated. The clock in the tower of St. Giles's Church, striking four, warned him that he must tarry no longer in the comforting oasis of shade provided by the accommodating tree, if he wished to reach the vicarage in reasonable time, and, regretfully throwing away the remains of his cigarette, he plunged resolutely into the burning desert of the dusty road. In a few seconds he was as hot as he had been before. It was like walking through the stoke-hole of an Atlantic

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