Sittaford Mystery

Few days ago was Agatha Christie’s birthday.
Here is one of her novels I like very much.

“(…)It was a pair of boots Miss the tick kind you rubs oil into and which the Captain would have worn if he had gone out in the snow but he didn’t go out in the snow it doesn’t seem to make sense. But missing they are and who took them nobody knows and though I well know it’s of no importance I felt it my duty to write and hoping this finds you as it leaves me at present and hoping you are not worrying too much about the young gentleman I remain Miss
Yours truly

Mrs J. Belling”

Sittaford Mystery by Agatha Christie

And the mirror cracked § Прокятието на огледалото

and the mirror cracked

‘She was staring, you know, over Mrs Badcock’s shoulder and when Mrs Badcock had
finished her rather silly story of how she got out of a bed of sickness and sneaked out of the house to go and meet Marina and get her autograph, there was a sort of odd silence. Then I saw her face.’
‘Whose face? Mrs Badcock’s?’
‘No. Marina Gregg’s. It was as though she hadn’t heard a word the Badcock woman was saying. She was staring over her shoulder right at the wall opposite. Staring with – I can’t
explain it to you-‘

The mirror cracked from side to side, by Agatha Christie

Appointment with Death § Среща със смъртта

appointment with death2.jpg

 

Softly Dr. Gerard quoted: “‘So I returned and did consider all the oppressions done beneath the sun. And there was weeping and whining from those that were oppressed and had no comfort; for with their oppressors there was power, so that no one came to comfort them. Then I did praise the dead which are already dead, yea, more than the living which linger still in life; yea, he that is not is better than dead or living; for he doth not know of the evil that is wrought forever on earth. . . .'” He broke off and said: “My dear sir, I have made a life’s study of the strange things that go on in the human mind. It is no good turning one’s face only to the fairer side of life. Below the decencies and conventions of everyday life, there lies a vast reservoir of strange things. (…)