Publisher's Synopsis
Excerpt from The Turnstile
He glanced at a thermometer which hung against the wall. Here, even at eleven O'clock Of the night, it marked this January ninety-seven degrees of heat. The mosquitoes trumpeted and drummed against the gauze curtains which covered the open windows; and outside the windows the night was black and hot like velvet.
Robert Daventry drew his handkerchief across his forehead and with his elbow on the table leaned his face upon his hand. His wife looked at him quickly and with solicitude.
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