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An Afternoon to Kill - Shelley Smith
1980 UK hardcover Reissue, Collins Crime Club, London A near fine book in near fine price clipped dust jacket No names or previous owner inscriptions etc Tight and square with clean contents and boards The dustwrapper has no loss or tears A Jubilee celebration reissue with a foreword by Julian Symons A nice tidy example For Sale at £7 (approx $11) *PB1 - free delivery worldwide ! |
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This is the House - Shelley Smith
1945 UK hardcover 1st edition, 1st issue, Collins Crime Club, London A good+ book without its dust jacket Tight and square with light fading to cloth A mystery set on an Isle in the West Indies A solid reading copy of an uncommon book For Sale at £SOLD (approx $SOLD) * - free delivery worldwide ! |
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It was the hour before high noon when the old-fashioned aeroplane that was taking the English tutor from England to the remote little Indian state came out of the vast empty sky and quavered down upon the sun-bleached silent land. The pilot clambered down and slowly walked round the machine; but as soon as the Englishman called out to know what was wrong he changed the expression of anxiety on his brown face to a grin of cheerful confidence. 'Is all right. I fix,' he said, with an airy wave of the hand, as if he knew what was wrong. The Englishman climbed down to join him. 'What's the damage?' he said again. 'Bust the under carriage on these damn stones you see,' the pilot said, kicking it. 'Not too bad. Might be worse. And a little engine trouble. Is nothing. I soon fix.' 'Where are we?* The pilot would like to have known this too; for he had no idea how far off-course he was. He also did not know what was wrong with the machine, or how long it would take him to mend it. He was badly frightened under his nervous veneer of competence. If something went wrong and the Englishman - well, if the Englishman never arrived, then he, Ras Ali, would be finished, ruined, disgraced (it had not yet occurred to him that if the Englishman did not arrive presumably neither would he); he saw his thin dark little wife and the children with their poor little hands raised tremblingly for mercy, and he wanted to weep. The baked yellowish earth patched with brown grass and stunted thorn bushes (a landscape like the end of the world) began to shimmer in his tear-filled eyes. |
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