Tired trying couple ov' weeks gone past with everything churning in a melange of never ending "to do". Life itself was a fairytale gone twisted with the ends of my mind mostly curled in dumb disapproval. I resembled somewhat the fox or - the wolf ( big and bad) - who huffed and puffed and blew the hut ( or house, or cottage) away. Only, dear me, I didn't manage to blow anything away - except rivulets of my patience and cubes of my mushed sanity.
Bright spot of those days were stolen moments immersed in two glorious books; one gifted, the other a precious endearing BookSale ( that means thrift!) find I love, love, love it when my eyes and hands trip on a keeper of a book tucked away above, underneath or in between piles of pre-loved literary goodies!
My Secret Keeper book ( by Kate Morton) is that sort ov' find! Fabulous portrait cover! And after inspecting every corner, and after scanning what it was all about, I knew for sure I had a winner of a read in my hands - a premium deluxe possession, a sparkling jade of a second hand book. Seriously, this must cost ten times more in our pricey bookshops.
Agatha Christie - Inspector Poirot mysteries are a fancy to me so you can just imagine how my eyes bulged rounded when I got to the part where a young lady witnessed an act of the sublime -- tragic of tragics! Yaiks, I think that spurt reads bad, haha!
No, I'm not a sucker for tragedy, nor do I live wit a hidden fetish for misfortune, but when dire circumstances of a plot are weaved in passionate telling, my interest is delightedly piqued.
This is what it's all about straight from the pretty flap:
During a summer party at the family farm in the English countryside, sixteen year old Lauren Nicholson has escaped to her childhood tree house and is happily dreaming of the future. She spies a stranger coming up the long road to the farm and watches as her mother speaks to him. before the afternoon is over, Laurel will witness a shocking crime. A crime that challenges everything she knows about her family and especially her mother, Dorothy. Her vivacious, loving, nearly perfect mother.
And if sixteen year old Laurel has her tree house, I, on the other hand have my hideaway for quiet reading moments, undisturbed and basked in solitude, just the way I like it!
Tdaaa'...lady prism moments... :D