In Sparkling Cyanide, Agatha Christie seats six--including a murderer--around a dining table set for seven, one year to the day that a beautiful heiress was poisoned in that very room. Six people sit down to a sumptuous meal at a table laid for seven. In front of the empty place is a sprig of rosemary--rosemary for remembrance. A strange sentiment considering no one is likely to forget the night, exactly a year ago, that Rosemary Barton died at exactly the same table, her beautiful face unrecognizable, convulsed with pain ...
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In Sparkling Cyanide, Agatha Christie seats six--including a murderer--around a dining table set for seven, one year to the day that a beautiful heiress was poisoned in that very room. Six people sit down to a sumptuous meal at a table laid for seven. In front of the empty place is a sprig of rosemary--rosemary for remembrance. A strange sentiment considering no one is likely to forget the night, exactly a year ago, that Rosemary Barton died at exactly the same table, her beautiful face unrecognizable, convulsed with pain and horror. But then Rosemary had always been memorable--she had the ability to arouse strong passions in most people she met. In one case, strong enough to kill. . . .
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