The Word Is Murder

might or might not

She was in her sixties with a pleasant, round face.

poor eyesight,’ I said.

modus operandi,’ I suggested.

disturbingly muddy field

leapt at the opportunity

the growlers rattling over the cobblestones,

the fractured hyoid bone

crimson curtain cord

If I walked away, Hawthorne would just go to another writer and what would be the result of that? I’d end up as minor character, nothing more than a sidekick in someone else’s book, which would actually be considerably worse than being a real character in one of my own. They would be able to do anything they liked. They could make me look like a complete idiot if they wanted