Two pickups from the village swap stuff / well-being shed this week:
The first was another for the Pre ISBN Penguins collection (my 555th of the 2999 main series),
and an unprepossessing looking old brick of a hardback by an author I had never heard of
I it picked up because it was looking so out of place on the shelf full of Lee Childs and Patricia Cornwell paperbacks: I flipped it open. Thick pulpy paper, wide margins, large-ish type with strange ligatures between every pairing of st and ct.
CHAPTER I
AS far as I'm concerned, Mr. Skinner," I
said, "you can go to hell."
My visitor leaned back in his chair,
staring at me resentfully out of his little rat-like
eyes.
"Is that all you have to say to me ? " he
demanded.
I reflected for a moment.
"And stop there," I added.
He rose to his feet, his naturally sallow face
flushed with anger.
"Very well, Mr. Cameron," he muttered,
"you may think you're very funny and
clever, but I'll be even with you before I've
finished."
I got up also, and, walking to the door, threw
it open.
"Unless you're out of this house in five
seconds," I said, " I'll chuck you down the steps."
Clutching his hat in his hand, he sidled quickly
through into the hall, and with a hasty jerk
drew back the latch of the front door.
The next minute he was standing on the
pavement, looking back at me over the little
iron gate which divided my miniature garden
from Campden House Road.
"You great hulking swine !" he snarled.
"You'll get what's coming to you and a bit over."
Damn! Sallow rat-eyed scuttling villain on page one and "Hulking swine" as our narrator but what sold me was that final 'and a bit over!"
The last copy of this book sold on eBay went for £35. I'm torn between hoping the book is not good enough to keep, or bad enough to hang on. to.