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Jonathan Valin

Detective Fiction Books for Sale

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Final notice - Jonathan Valin
1981 UK hardback first edition, first impression, Collins Crime Club, London
A fine book in fine unclipped dust wrapper
Slightest rubs to black edges
Alovely copy and a Harry Stoner mystery
For Sale at £SOLD - SORRY, CURRENTLY OUT OF STOCK (approx $SOLD) - free delivery worldwide !

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Dead Letter - Jonathan Valin
1982 UK hardback 1st book club edition, BCA, London
A near fine book in fine unclipped dust wrapper
The book is without names and stamps etc
The jacjet has no loss or tears
A bright copy and the same format as the true first, a HS thriller
For Sale at £7 (approx $11) *P4 - free delivery worldwide !
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Brief Biography
VALIN, Jonathan (Louis). American. Born in Cincinnati. Ohio 23 November 1948. Educated at the Univers.ty of Chicago MA 1974; Washington University, St. Louis, 1976-79. Married Katherine Brockhaus in 1971. Lecturer in English University of Cincinnati 1974-76, and Washington University, 1976-79. Since 1979 free-lance writer.

The first time I saw Sarah B(ernice) Lovingwell she was sitting on the stoop of her father's home on Middleton Avenue. From where I was parked in front of the house she looked to be a pale, sober young lady with a sweet, demure face. She certainly didn't look like the sort of girl who would cause trouble. At least, not the kind of trouble I'd been hired to investigate. Her father, Professor Daryl Lovingwell of the University of Cincinnati and Sloane National Laboratory, wasn't sure whether his daughter had caused the trouble, either. That's why he'd stopped at my office in the Riorley Building on a cold Monday morning in the heart of December. A dapper little man in his late fifties, he looked, I thought, like a polite, pallid George Bernard Shaw —high forehead, bald speckled flesh, trim white imperial cut to a satanic point, and white moustaches that exuded a faint odour of wax and of pipe tobacco. From the fine tailoring of his Harris tweeds and the trace of English accent that toned his speech like a silvery tarnish, he seemed to be a very proper gentleman indeed. He seemed to be Lord Chesterfield in woollen bunting. But there was a wry gleam in his grey eye that suggested he wasn't blind to the slightly eccentric impression he made. And after we began to talk, I got the feeling that, like most eccentrics, the Professor only used his quirks and oddities of speech and of dress in the right company — which appeared to include me.


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