A Murder of Quality
“He had meant to sleep late, but his watch said half past seven. He put on his bedside lamp, for it was still half dark, and peered owlishly round the room. There were his trousers, flung over the chair, the legs still sodden from the snow. There were his shoes; he’d have to buy another pair. And there beside him were the notes he had made early that morning before going to sleep, transcriptions from memory of some of Mad Jane’s monologue on the journey back to Carne, a journey he would never forget. Mundy had sat with her in the back. She spoke to herself as a child does, asking questions and then, in the patient tones of an adult for whom the reply is self-evident, providing the answer.One obsession seemed to fill her mind: she had seen the devil. She had seen him flying on the wind, his silver wings stretched out behind him. Sometimes the recollection amused her, sometimes inflated her with a sense of her own importance or beauty, and sometimes it terrified her, so that she moaned a...nd wept and begged him to go away.MoreLess
Write Review:
Guest
Read Also
8 / 10
8 / 10
User Reviews: