{"id":2461,"date":"2026-01-03T22:31:02","date_gmt":"2026-01-03T22:31:02","guid":{"rendered":"https:\/\/epub-book.com\/download\/the-moving-finger-christie-agatha\/"},"modified":"2026-01-03T22:31:02","modified_gmt":"2026-01-03T22:31:02","slug":"the-moving-finger-christie-agatha","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/epub-book.com\/download\/the-moving-finger-christie-agatha\/","title":{"rendered":"The Moving Finger – Christie, Agatha"},"content":{"rendered":"
\n

Book Preview<\/h3>\n
\n
\n

One<\/span><\/span><\/h2>\n<\/div>\n
\n

I<\/span><\/p>\n

W<\/span><\/span>hen at last I was taken out of the plaster, and the doctors had pulled me about to their hearts\u2019 content, and nurses had wheedled me into cautiously using my limbs, and I had been nauseated by their practically using baby talk to me, Marcus Kent told me I was to go and live in the country.<\/p>\n

\u201cGood air, quiet life, nothing to do\u2014that\u2019s the prescription for you. That sister of yours will look after you. Eat, sleep and imitate the vegetable kingdom as far as possible.\u201d<\/p>\n

I didn\u2019t ask him if I\u2019d ever be able to fly again. There are questions that you don\u2019t ask because you\u2019re afraid of the answers to them. In the same way during the last five months I\u2019d never asked if I was going to be condemned to lie on my back all my life. I was afraid of a bright hypocritical reassurance from Sister. \u201cCome now, what<\/span> a question to ask! We don\u2019t let our patients go talking in that<\/span> way!\u201d<\/p>\n

So I hadn\u2019t asked\u2014and it had been all right. I wasn\u2019t to be a helpless cripple. I could move my legs, stand on them, finally walk a few steps\u2014and if I did feel rather like an adventurous baby learning to toddle, with wobbly knees and cotton wool soles to my feet\u2014well, that was only weakness and disuse and would pass.<\/p>\n

Marcus Kent, who is the right kind of doctor, answered what I hadn\u2019t said.<\/p>\n

\u201cYou\u2019re going to recover completely,\u201d he said. \u201cWe weren\u2019t sure until last Tuesday when you had that final overhaul, but I can tell you so authoritatively now. But\u2014it\u2019s going to be a long business. A long and, if I may so, a wearisome business. When it\u2019s a question of healing nerves and muscles, the brain must help the body. Any impatience, any fretting, will throw you back. And whatever you do, don\u2019t \u2018will yourself to get well quickly.\u2019 Anything of that kind and you\u2019ll find yourself back in a nursing home. You\u2019ve got to take life slowly and easily, the tempo<\/span> is marked Legato.<\/span> Not only has your body got to recover, but your nerves have been weakened by the necessity of keeping you under drugs for so long.<\/p>\n

\u201cThat\u2019s why I say, go down to the country, take a house, get interested in local politics, in local scandal, in village gossip. Take an inquisitive and violent interest in your neighbours. If I may make a suggestion, go to a part of the world where you haven\u2019t got any friends scattered about.\u201d<\/p>\n

I nodded. \u201cI had already,\u201d I said, \u201cthought of that.\u201d<\/p>\n

I could think of nothing more insufferable than members of one\u2019s own gang dropping in full of sympathy and their own affairs.<\/p>\n

\u201cBut Jerry, you\u2019re looking marvellous\u2014isn\u2019t he? Absolutely. Darling, I must tell you\u2014What do you think Buster has done now?\u201d<\/p>\n

No, none of that for me. Dogs are wise. They crawl away into a quiet corner and lick their wounds and do not rejoin the world until they are whole once more.<\/p>\n

So it came about that Joanna and I, sorting wildly through houseagents\u2019 glowing eulogies of properties all over the British Isles, selected Little Furze, Lymstock, as one of the \u201cpossibles\u201d to be viewed, mainly because we had never been to Lymstock, and knew no one in that neighbourhood.<\/p>\n

And when Joanna saw Little Furze she decided at once that it was just the house we wanted.<\/p>\n

It lay about half a mile out of Lymstock on the road leading up to the moors. It was a prim low white house, with a sloping Victorian veranda painted a faded green. It had a pleasant view over a slope of heather-covered land with the church spire of Lymstock down below to the left.<\/p>\n

It had belonged to a family of maiden ladies, the Misses Barton, of whom only one was left, the youngest, Miss Emily.<\/p>\n

Miss Emily Barton was a charming little old lady who matched her house in an incredible way. In a soft apologetic voice she explained to Joanna that she had never let her house before, indeed would never have thought of doing so, \u201cbut you see, my dear, things are so different nowadays\u2014taxation,<\/span> of course, and then my stocks and shares, so safe,<\/span> as I always imagined, and indeed the bank manager himself<\/span> recommended some of them, but they seem to be paying nothing at all<\/span> these days\u2014foreign,<\/span> of course! And really it makes it all so difficult.<\/span> One does not (I\u2019m sure you will understand me, my dear, and not take offence, you look so kind) like<\/span> the idea of letting one\u2019s house to strangers\u2014but something must be done, and really, having seen you, I shall be quite glad<\/span> to think of you being here\u2014it needs, you know, young life.<\/span> And I must confess I did shrink from the idea of having Men<\/span> here!\u201d<\/p>\n

At this point, Joanna had to break the news of me. Miss Emily rallied well.<\/p>\n

\u201cOh dear, I see. How sad! A flying accident? So brave, these young men. Still, your brother will be practically an invalid\u2014\u201d<\/p>\n

The thought seemed to soothe the gentle little lady. Presumably I should not be indulging in those grosser masculine activities which Emily Barton feared. She inquired diffidently if I smoked.<\/p>\n

\u201cLike a chimney,\u201d said Joanna. \u201cBut then,\u201d she pointed out, \u201cso do I.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cOf course, of course. So stupid of me. I\u2019m afraid, you know, I haven\u2019t moved with the times. My sisters were all older than myself, and my dear mother lived to be ninety-seven\u2014just fancy!\u2014and was most particular. Yes, yes, everyone smokes now. The only thing is, there are no ashtrays in the house.\u201d<\/p>\n

Joanna said that we would bring lots of ashtrays, and she added with a smile, \u201cWe won\u2019t put down cigarette ends on your nice furniture, that I do promise you. Nothing makes me so mad myself as to see people do that.\u201d<\/p>\n

So it was settled and we took Little Furze for a period of six months, with an option of another three, and Emily Barton explained to Joanna that she herself was going to be very comfortable because she was going into rooms kept by an old parlourmaid, \u201cmy faithful Florence,\u201d who had married \u201cafter being with us for fifteen years. Such<\/span> a nice girl, and her husband is in the building trade. They have a nice house in the High Street and two beautiful rooms on the top floor where I shall be most<\/span> comfortable, and Florence so pleased to have me.\u201d<\/p>\n

So everything seemed to be most satisfactory, and the agreement was signed and in due course Joanna and I arrived and settled in, and Miss Emily Barton\u2019s maid Partridge having consented to remain, we were well looked after with the assistance of a \u201cgirl\u201d who came in every morning and who seemed to be half-witted but amiable.<\/p>\n

Partridge, a gaunt dour female of middle age, cooked admirably, and though disapproving of late dinner (it having been Miss Emily\u2019s custom to dine lightly off a boiled egg) nevertheless accommodated herself to our ways and went so far as to admit that she could see I needed my strength building up.<\/p>\n

When we had settled in and been at Little Furze a week Miss Emily Barton came solemnly and left cards. Her example was followed by Mrs. Symmington, the lawyer\u2019s wife, Miss Griffith, the doctor\u2019s sister, Mrs. Dane Calthrop, the vicar\u2019s wife, and Mr. Pye of Prior\u2019s End.<\/p>\n

Joanna was very much impressed.<\/p>\n

\u201cI didn\u2019t know,\u201d she said in an awestruck voice, \u201cthat people really called<\/span>\u2014with cards.<\/span>\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cThat is because, my child,\u201d I said, \u201cyou know nothing about the country.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cNonsense. I\u2019ve stayed away for heaps of weekends with people.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cThat is not at all the same thing,\u201d I said.<\/p>\n

I am five years older than Joanna. I can remember as a child the big white shabby untidy house we had with the fields running down to the river. I can remember creeping under the nets of raspberry canes unseen by the gardener, and the smell of white dust in the stable yard and an orange cat crossing it, and the sound of horse hoofs kicking something in the stables.<\/p>\n

But when I was seven and Joanna two, we went to live in London with an aunt, and thereafter our Christmas and Easter holidays were spent there with pantomimes and theatres and cinemas and excursions to Kensington Gardens with boats, and later to skating rinks. In August we were taken to an hotel by the seaside somewhere.<\/p>\n

Reflecting on this, I said thoughtfully to Joanna, and with a feeling of compunction as I realized what a selfish, self-centred invalid I had become:<\/p>\n

\u201cThis is going to be pretty frightful for you, I\u2019m afraid. You\u2019ll miss everything so.\u201d<\/p>\n

For Joanna is very pretty and very gay, and she likes dancing and cocktails, and love affairs and rushing about in high-powered cars.<\/p>\n

Joanna laughed and said she didn\u2019t mind at all.<\/p>\n

\u201cAs a matter of fact, I\u2019m glad to get away from it all. I really was fed up with the whole crowd, and although you won\u2019t be sympathetic, I was really very cut up about Paul. It will take me a long time to get over it.\u201d<\/p>\n

I was sceptical over this. Joanna\u2019s love affairs always run the same course. She has a mad infatuation for some completely spineless young man who is a misunderstood genius. She listens to his endless complaints and works like anything to get him recognition. Then, when he is ungrateful, she is deeply wounded and says her heart is broken\u2014until the next gloomy young man comes along, which is usually about three weeks later!<\/p>\n

So I did not take Joanna\u2019s broken heart very seriously. But I did see that living in the country was like a new game to my attractive sister.<\/p>\n

\u201cAt any rate,\u201d she said, \u201cI look all right, don\u2019t I?\u201d<\/p>\n

I studied her critically and was not able to agree.<\/p>\n

Joanna was dressed (by Mirotin) for le Sport.<\/span> That is to say she was wearing a skirt of outrageous and preposterous checks. It was skintight, and on her upper half she had a ridiculous little shortsleeved jersey with a Tyrolean effect. She had sheer silk stockings and some irreproachable but brand new brogues.<\/p>\n

\u201cNo,\u201d I said, \u201cyou\u2019re all wrong. You ought to be wearing a very old tweed skirt, preferably of dirty green or faded brown. You\u2019d wear a nice cashmere jumper matching it, and perhaps a cardigan coat, and you\u2019d have a felt hat and thick stockings and old shoes. Then, and only then, you\u2019d sink into the background of Lymstock High Street, and not stand out as you do at present.\u201d I added: \u201cYour face is all wrong, too.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cWhat\u2019s wrong with that? I\u2019ve got on my Country Tan Makeup No. 2.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cExactly,\u201d I said. \u201cIf you lived in Lymstock, you would have on just a little powder to take the shine off your nose, and possibly a soup\u00e7on<\/span> of lipstick\u2014not very well applied\u2014and you would almost certainly be wearing all your eyebrows instead of only a quarter of them.\u201d<\/p>\n

Joanna gurgled and seemed much amused.<\/p>\n

\u201cDo you think they\u2019ll think I\u2019m awful?\u201d she said.<\/p>\n

\u201cNo,\u201d I said. \u201cJust queer.\u201d<\/p>\n

Joanna had resumed her study of the cards left by our callers. Only the vicar\u2019s wife had been so fortunate, or possibly unfortunate, as to catch Joanna at home.<\/p>\n

Joanna murmured:<\/p>\n

\u201cIt\u2019s rather like Happy Families, isn\u2019t it? Mrs. Legal the lawyer\u2019s wife, Miss Dose the doctor\u2019s daughter, etc.\u201d She added with enthusiasm: \u201cI do think this is a nice place, Jerry! So sweet and funny and old-world. You just can\u2019t think of anything nasty happening here, can you?\u201d<\/p>\n

And although I knew what she said was really nonsense, I agreed with her. In a place like Lymstock nothing nasty could happen. It is odd to think that it was just a week later that we got the first letter.<\/p>\n

II<\/span><\/p>\n

I see that I have begun badly. I have given no description of Lymstock and without understanding what Lymstock is like, it is impossible to understand my story.<\/p>\n

To begin with, Lymstock has its roots in the past. Somewhere about the time of the Norman Conquest, Lymstock was a place of importance. That importance was chiefly ecclesiastical. Lymstock had a priory, and it had a long succession of ambitious and powerful priors. Lords and barons in the surrounding countryside made themselves right with Heaven by leaving certain of their lands to the priory. Lymstock Priory waxed rich and important and was a power in the land for many centuries. In due course, however, Henry the Eighth caused it to share the fate of its contemporaries. From then on a castle dominated the town. It was still important. It had rights and privileges and wealth.<\/p>\n

And then, somewhere in seventeen hundred and something, the tide of progress swept Lymstock into a backwater. The castle crumbled. Neither railways nor main roads came near Lymstock. It turned into a little provincial market town, unimportant and forgotten, with a sweep of moorland rising behind it, and placid farms and fields ringing it round.<\/p>\n

A market was held there once a week, on which day one was apt to encounter cattle in the lanes and roads. It had a small race meeting twice a year which only the most obscure horses attended. It had a charming High Street with dignified houses set flat back, looking slightly incongruous with their ground-floor windows displaying buns or vegetables or fruit. It had a long straggling draper\u2019s shop, a large and portentous ironmonger\u2019s, a pretentious post office, and a row of straggly indeterminate shops, two rival butchers and an International Stores. It had a doctor, a firm of solicitors, Messrs. Galbraith, Galbraith and Symmington, a beautiful and unexpectedly large church dating from fourteen hundred and twenty, with some Saxon remains incorporated in it, a new and hideous school, and two pubs.<\/p>\n

Such was Lymstock, and urged on by Emily Barton, anybody who was anybody came to call upon us, and in due course Joanna, having bought a pair of gloves and assumed a velvet beret rather the worse for wear, sallied forth to return them.<\/p>\n

To us, it was all quite novel and entertaining. We were not there for life. It was, for us, an interlude. I prepared to obey my doctor\u2019s instructions and get interested in my neighbours.<\/p>\n

Joanna and I found it all great fun.<\/p>\n

I remembered, I suppose, Marcus Kent\u2019s instructions to enjoy the local scandals. I certainly didn\u2019t suspect how these scandals were going to be introduced to my notice.<\/p>\n

The odd part of it was that the letter, when it came, amused us more than anything else.<\/p>\n

It arrived, I remember, at breakfast. I turned it over, in the idle way one does when time goes slowly and every event must be spun out to its full extent. It was, I saw, a local letter with a typewritten address.<\/p>\n

I opened it before the two with London postmarks, since one of them was a bill and the other from a rather tiresome cousin.<\/p>\n

Inside, printed words and letters had been cut out and gummed to a sheet of paper. For a minute or two I stared at the words without taking them in. Then I gasped.<\/p>\n

Joanna, who was frowning over some bills, looked up.<\/p>\n

\u201cHallo,\u201d she said, \u201cwhat is it? You look quite startled.\u201d<\/p>\n

The letter, using terms of the coarsest character, expressed the writer\u2019s opinion that Joanna and I were not brother and sister.<\/p>\n

\u201cIt\u2019s a particularly foul anonymous letter,\u201d I said.<\/p>\n

I was still suffering from shock. Somehow one didn\u2019t expect that kind of thing in the placid backwater of Lymstock.<\/p>\n

Joanna at once displayed lively interest.<\/p>\n

\u201cNo?<\/span> What does it say?\u201d<\/p>\n

In novels, I have noticed, anonymous letters of a foul and disgusting character are never shown, if possible, to women. It is implied that women must at all cost be shielded from the shock it might give their delicate nervous systems.<\/p>\n

I am sorry to say it never occurred to me not to show the letter to Joanna. I handed it to her at once.<\/p>\n

She vindicated my belief in her toughness by displaying no emotion but that of amusement.<\/p>\n

\u201cWhat an awful bit of dirt! I\u2019ve always heard about anonymous letters, but I\u2019ve never seen one before. Are they always like this?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cI can\u2019t tell you,\u201d I said. \u201cIt\u2019s my first experience, too.\u201d<\/p>\n

Joanna began to giggle.<\/p>\n

\u201cYou must have been right about my makeup, Jerry. I suppose they think I just must<\/span> be an abandoned female!\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cThat,\u201d I said, \u201ccoupled with the fact that our father was a tall, dark lantern-jawed man and our mother a fair-haired blue-eyed little creature, and that I take after him and you take after her.\u201d<\/p>\n

Joanna nodded thoughtfully.<\/p>\n

\u201cYes, we\u2019re not a bit alike. Nobody would take us for brother and sister.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cSomebody certainly hasn\u2019t,\u201d I said with feeling.<\/p>\n

Joanna said she thought it was frightfully funny.<\/p>\n

She dangled the letter thoughtfully by one corner and asked what we were to do with it.<\/p>\n

\u201cThe correct procedure, I believe,\u201d I said, \u201cis to drop it into the fire with a sharp exclamation of disgust.\u201d<\/p>\n

I suited the action to the word, and Joanna applauded.<\/p>\n

\u201cYou did that beautifully,\u201d she added. \u201cYou ought to have been on the stage. It\u2019s lucky we still have fires, isn\u2019t it?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cThe wastepaper basket would have been much less dramatic,\u201d I agreed. \u201cI could, of course, have set light to it with a match and slowly watched it burn\u2014or watched it slowly burn.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cThings never burn when you want them to,\u201d said Joanna. \u201cThey go out. You\u2019d probably have had to strike match after match.\u201d<\/p>\n

She got up and went towards the window. Then, standing there, she turned her head sharply.<\/p>\n

\u201cI wonder,\u201d she said, \u201cwho wrote it?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cWe\u2019re never likely to know,\u201d I said.<\/p>\n

\u201cNo\u2014I suppose not.\u201d She was silent a moment, and then said: \u201cI don\u2019t know when I come to think of it that it is so funny after all. You know, I thought they\u2014they liked<\/span> us down here.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cSo they do,\u201d I said. \u201cThis is just some half-crazy brain on the borderline.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cI suppose so. Ugh\u2014 Nasty!\u201d<\/p>\n

As she went out into the sunshine I thought to myself as I smoked my after-breakfast cigarette that she was quite right. It was nasty. Someone resented our coming here\u2014someone resented Joanna\u2019s bright young sophisticated beauty\u2014somebody wanted to hurt.<\/span> To take it with a laugh was perhaps the best way\u2014but deep down it wasn\u2019t funny\u2026.<\/p>\n

Dr. Griffith came that morning. I had fixed up for him to give me a weekly overhaul. I liked Owen Griffith. He was dark, ungainly, with awkward ways of moving and deft, very gentle hands. He had a jerky way of talking and was rather shy.<\/p>\n

He reported progress to be encouraging. Then he added:<\/p>\n

\u201cYou\u2019re feeling all right, aren\u2019t you. Is it my fancy, or are you a bit under the weather this morning?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cNot really,\u201d I said. \u201cA particularly scurrilous anonymous letter arrived with the morning coffee, and it\u2019s left rather a nasty taste in the mouth.\u201d<\/p>\n

He dropped his bag on the floor. His thin dark face was excited.<\/p>\n

\u201cDo you mean to say that you\u2019ve<\/span> had one of them?\u201d<\/p>\n

I was interested.<\/p>\n

\u201cThey\u2019ve been going about, then?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cYes. For some time.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cOh,\u201d I said, \u201cI see. I was under the impression that our presence as strangers was resented here.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cNo, no, it\u2019s nothing to do with that. It\u2019s just\u2014\u201d He paused and then asked, \u201cWhat did it say? At least\u2014\u201d he turned suddenly red and embarrassed\u2014 \u201cperhaps I oughtn\u2019t to ask?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cI\u2019ll tell you with pleasure,\u201d I said. \u201cIt just said that the fancy tart I\u2019d brought down with me wasn\u2019t my sister\u2014not \u2019alf! And that, I may say, is a Bowdlerized version.\u201d<\/p>\n

His dark face flushed angrily.<\/p>\n

\u201cHow damnable! Your sister didn\u2019t\u2014she\u2019s not upset, I hope?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cJoanna,\u201d I said, \u201clooks a little like the angel off the top of the Christmas tree, but she\u2019s eminently modern and quite tough. She found it highly entertaining. Such things haven\u2019t come her way before.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cI should hope not, indeed,\u201d said Griffith warmly.<\/p>\n

\u201cAnd anyway,\u201d I said firmly. \u201cThat\u2019s the best way to take it, I think. As something utterly ridiculous.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cYes,\u201d said Owen Griffith. \u201cOnly\u2014\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cQuite so,\u201d I said. \u201cOnly is the word!\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cThe trouble is,\u201d he said, \u201cthat this sort of thing, once it starts, grows.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cSo I should imagine.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cIt\u2019s pathological, of course.\u201d<\/p>\n

I nodded. \u201cAny idea who\u2019s behind it?\u201d I asked.<\/p>\n

\u201cNo, I wish I had. You see, the anonymous letter pest arises from one of two causes. Either it\u2019s particular<\/span>\u2014directed at one particular person or set of people, that is to say it\u2019s motivated,<\/span> it\u2019s someone who\u2019s got a definite grudge (or thinks they have) and who chooses a particularly nasty and underhand way of working it off. It\u2019s mean and disgusting but it\u2019s not necessarily crazy, and it\u2019s usually fairly easy to trace the writer\u2014a discharged servant, a jealous woman\u2014and so on. But if it\u2019s general,<\/span> and not particular, then it\u2019s more serious. The letters are sent indiscriminately and serve the purpose of working off some frustration in the writer\u2019s mind. As I say, it\u2019s definitely pathological. And the craze grows. In the end, of course, you track down the person in question\u2014it\u2019s often someone extremely unlikely, and that\u2019s that. There was a bad outburst of the kind over the other side of the county last year\u2014turned out to be the head of the millinery department in a big draper\u2019s establishment. Quiet, refined woman\u2014had been there for years. I remember something of the same kind in my last practice up north\u2014but that turned out to be purely personal spite. Still, as I say, I\u2019ve seen something of this kind of thing, and, quite frankly, it frightens me!\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cHas it been going on long?\u201d I asked.<\/p>\n

\u201cI don\u2019t think so. Hard to say, of course, because people who get these letters don\u2019t go round advertising the fact. They put them in the fire.\u201d<\/p>\n

He paused.<\/p>\n

\u201cI\u2019ve had one myself. Symmington, the solicitor, he\u2019s had one. And one or two of my poorer patients have told me about them.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cAll much the same sort of thing?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cOh yes. A definite harping on the sex theme. That\u2019s always a feature.\u201d He grinned. \u201cSymmington was accused of illicit relations with his lady clerk\u2014poor old Miss Ginch, who\u2019s forty at least, with pince-nez and teeth like a rabbit. Symmington took it straight to the police. My letters accused me of violating professional decorum with my lady patients, stressing the details. They\u2019re all quite childish and absurd, but horribly venomous.\u201d His face changed, grew grave. \u201cBut all the same, I\u2019m afraid.<\/span> These things can be dangerous, you know.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cI suppose they can.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cYou see,\u201d he said, \u201ccrude, childish spite though it is, sooner or later one of these letters will hit the mark. And then, God knows what may happen! I\u2019m afraid, too, of the effect upon the slow, suspicious uneducated mind. If they see a thing written, they believe it\u2019s true. All sorts of complications may arise.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cIt was an illiterate sort of letter,\u201d I said thoughtfully, \u201cwritten by somebody practically illiterate, I should say.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cWas it?\u201d said Owen, and went away.<\/p>\n

Thinking it over afterwards, I found that \u201cWas it?\u201d rather disturbing.<\/p>\n<\/div>\n<\/div>\n<\/div>\n

\n

Read the full book by downloading it below.<\/p>\n

DOWNLOAD EPUB<\/a><\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"

Book Preview One I When at last I was taken out of the plaster, and the doctors had pulled me about to their hearts\u2019 content, and nurses had wheedled me into cautiously using my limbs, and I had been nauseated by their practically using baby talk to me, Marcus Kent told me I was to … Read more<\/a><\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":1,"featured_media":2460,"comment_status":"","ping_status":"","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"footnotes":""},"categories":[1],"tags":[142],"class_list":["post-2461","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","has-post-thumbnail","hentry","category-uncategorized","tag-agatha-christie"],"_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/epub-book.com\/download\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/2461","targetHints":{"allow":["GET"]}}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/epub-book.com\/download\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/epub-book.com\/download\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/epub-book.com\/download\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/users\/1"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/epub-book.com\/download\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/comments?post=2461"}],"version-history":[{"count":0,"href":"https:\/\/epub-book.com\/download\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/2461\/revisions"}],"wp:featuredmedia":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/epub-book.com\/download\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media\/2460"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/epub-book.com\/download\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media?parent=2461"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/epub-book.com\/download\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/categories?post=2461"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/epub-book.com\/download\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/tags?post=2461"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}