Monday, July the 5th, 2004
back to: title, date or indexes
“When she had crossed it, earlier in the afternoon, she had been chiefly concerned in picking out a fairly dry passage over the rich black mold formed by leaf-deposits. She had only marked it down as a sheltered spot in which to search for early primroses. But the promise of spring was now only a mockery. As she advanced, the place seemed an area of desolation and decay, with wind-falls for crops. In this melancholy trough—choked with seasonal litter—sound was reduced to furtive rustles; light was shrunken to a dark miasma, through which trees loomed with the semblance of men. Suddenly, murder ceased to be a special fiction of the Press. It became real—a menace and a monstrosity.” — Ethel Lina White, The Spiral Staircase (Some Must Watch)