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CelticWarlord
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Margery Louise Allingham (1904 – 1966) was an English novelist from the “Golden Age of Detective Fiction”, best remembered for her hero, the gentleman sleuth Albert Campion. Initially believed to be a parody of Dorothy L. Sayers’s detective Lord Peter Wimsey, Campion matured into a strongly individual character, part-detective, part-adventurer, who formed the basis for 18 novels and many short stories.
“But there are roughly two sorts of informed people, aren’t there? People who start off right by observing the pitfalls and mistakes and going round them, and the people who fall into those same pitfalls, get out and know they’re there because of that. They may both come to the same conclusions but they don’t have quite the same point of view.”
“Beware of anger. It is the most difficult to remove of all the hindrances. But it is the alcohol of the body, you know, and the devil of it is that it deadens the perceptions.”
“She rose and followed her bust from the room.”
“Mourning is not forgetting,’ he said gently, his helplessness vanishing and his voice becoming wise. ‘It is an undoing. Every minute tie has to be untied and something permanent and valuable recovered and assimilated from the knot. The end is gain, of course. Blessed are they that mourn, for they shall be made strong, in fact. But the process is like all other human births, painful and long and dangerous.”
“Waiting is one of the great arts.”
“Infatuation is one of those slightly comic illnesses which is at once so undignified and so painful that a nice-minded world does its best to ignore its existence altogether, referring to it only under provocation and then with apology. But this boil on the neck of the spirit can hardly be forgotten either by the sufferer or anyone else in his vicinity. The malady is ludicrous, sad, excruciating and, above all, instantly recognizable.”
“Meanwhile Crumb Street, never a place of beauty, that afternoon was at its worst. The fog slopped over its low houses like a bucketful of cold soup over a row of dirty stoves."
Code:
- - - - - - -“Beware of anger. It is the most difficult to remove of all the hindrances. But it is the alcohol of the body, you know, and the devil of it is that it deadens the perceptions.”
“She rose and followed her bust from the room.”
“Mourning is not forgetting,’ he said gently, his helplessness vanishing and his voice becoming wise. ‘It is an undoing. Every minute tie has to be untied and something permanent and valuable recovered and assimilated from the knot. The end is gain, of course. Blessed are they that mourn, for they shall be made strong, in fact. But the process is like all other human births, painful and long and dangerous.”
“Waiting is one of the great arts.”
“Infatuation is one of those slightly comic illnesses which is at once so undignified and so painful that a nice-minded world does its best to ignore its existence altogether, referring to it only under provocation and then with apology. But this boil on the neck of the spirit can hardly be forgotten either by the sufferer or anyone else in his vicinity. The malady is ludicrous, sad, excruciating and, above all, instantly recognizable.”
“Meanwhile Crumb Street, never a place of beauty, that afternoon was at its worst. The fog slopped over its low houses like a bucketful of cold soup over a row of dirty stoves."
What a visual!