She unlocked a door and pointed to the stone flight, going steeply and slyly into a pit . . . Four squat, dirty columns held up the roof; there was a primitive stone altar . . . and there was also a smell. A peculiarly disquieting smell . . . a stench of decay or corruption, that pressed on eyes, nose and throat like a suffocating hand, or like a wall in which you are being bricked up . . . Of Storm Jameson, Daniel George said: 'as a story-teller she has had, and has few equals.' In this brilliant novel of obsession, hate ...
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She unlocked a door and pointed to the stone flight, going steeply and slyly into a pit . . . Four squat, dirty columns held up the roof; there was a primitive stone altar . . . and there was also a smell. A peculiarly disquieting smell . . . a stench of decay or corruption, that pressed on eyes, nose and throat like a suffocating hand, or like a wall in which you are being bricked up . . . Of Storm Jameson, Daniel George said: 'as a story-teller she has had, and has few equals.' In this brilliant novel of obsession, hate and the mystery of human cruelty she has once again produced a work that fascinates and compels.
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Seller's Description:
First edition (ie first impression), hardback. 12mo (19cm by 13cm), [iv], 236pp. Original green cloth, but lacks the dustwrapper. Some minor foxing of the endpapers, else the book is in very good condition. Signed and inscribed by the author on the front free endpaper "To Jean & Archie with all my love, Margaret Storm Jameson".
