By Peter O'Donnell
The rugged crew of Modesty Blaise and her unswerving lieutenant, Willie Garvin, tackle most unlikely odds as they battle Simon Delicta, a guy with a flavor for loss of life, and Swordmaster Wenczel in a duel to the dying. because the event unfolds, and so they commute from London to Panama to the depths of the Sahara wasteland, the pair will desire all their killing talents to outlive.
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Additional info for A Taste for Death (Modesty Blaise, Book 4)
When we lived in Sussex View, I was 5 or 6. All I knew about the French Revolution was from The Tale of Two Cities, read to me in my grandmother's drawing-room in the Hythe. I did not know anything about the Russian Revolution, though there were flag-days and collections in King Charles for the Relief of the Famine in the Ukraine. But I certainly did know about class antagonism and class fear. In Tunbridge Wells, 'Sussex' was all right to he viewed, as long as the view was not that of the hateful choir school.
It was not distasteful glance, not their eyes, but their ears, that warned them of the approach of their common destination, the increased volume of sound as the ' 2i train started braking, before entering the final tunnel. what did the train say? Robinson, very fast as Swan & Edgar, Dickins & it And Jones, Peter ran downhill after coming out of the tunnel through the Downs, slower and slower, lower and lower, almost a whisper, as it headed towards the curved platform of the Central. 50 was the between Cannon Street and the double-gin-and-its, large whisky-and-sodas.
In due course, as if in response to a series of secret signals, the other girls - pink, purple, lavender, electric blue, puce - would likewise step down with slow deliberation, smoothing their brilliant dresses at the knees, and go and sit each at a different masculine table. Conversations would remain restrained, almost confidential, no coarse jokes, no communication from table to table. The landlord looked on, very still, his face completely empty. One or two more masculine customers would come in, look around, and nod at this group or that, followed by three more girls who arrived together and took up positions on the empty bar-stools.
A Taste for Death (Modesty Blaise, Book 4) by Peter O'Donnell