I cooled my heels in the cloisters till nine, then went in to the music-meeting.
[M]oſt wretched man, / That to affections does the bridle lend; / In their beginning they are weake and wan, / But ſoone through ſuff'rance growe to fearefull end; …
DONUT HOUSE (B) — 496 Selkirk Avenue, Winnipeg 4. Glazed donuts busters, long johns, fried cinnamons, assorted whipped cream donuts, party snacks, bread, pastries.
Had they responded this way in France or America, this wouldn't have surprised me, but wasn't everyone in England supposed to be a detective? Wasn't every crime, no matter how complex, solved in a timely fashion by either a professional or a hobbyist? That's the impression you get from British books and TV shows. Sherlock Holmes, Miss Marple, Hetty Wainthropp, Inspector George Gently: they come from every class and corner of the country. There’s even Edith Pargeter's Brother Cadfael, a Benedictine monk who solved crimes in twelfth-century Shrewsbury. No surveillance cameras, no fingerprints, not even a telephone, and still he cracked every case that came his way.
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