Every Friday Book Beginnings on Friday is hosted by Gillion at Rose City Reader where you can share the first sentence (or so) of the book you are reading, along with your initial thoughts about the sentence, impressions of the book, or anything else the opener inspires.
As I’ve nearly finished reading Daniel Defoe’s A Journal of the Plague Year I’ve been wondering what to read next. I had thought I might read Moon Over Soho by Ben Aaronovitch, which is the second Rivers of London book. But this morning I picked up The Last Bus to Woodstock by Colin Dexter and began reading and just carried on. It’s the first Morse book in which Morse and Lewis first met and worked together. Morse thought they would get on well together.
‘Let’s just wait a bit longer please,’ said the girl in dark-blue trousers and the light summer coat. ‘I’m sure there’s one due soon.’
This is a scene at a bus stop where two girls are waiting for the next bus to Woodstock. One of the girls doesn’t want to wait, wanting to hitch a lift and they both left the bus stop – it was the wrong decision.
These are the rules:
- Grab a book, any book.
- Turn to page 56, or 56% on your eReader. If you have to improvise, that is okay.
- Find any sentence (or a few, just don’t spoil it) that grabs you.
- Post it.
- Add the URL to your post in the link on Freda’s most recent Friday 56 post.
She pointed to a large volume, also lying open on the carpet in front of the TV set. ‘Mary’s started to read it.’ Morse picked it up and looked at the title. Who was Jack the Ripper?
‘I’m sure you’ve read that.’
Morse’s moral began to sag again. ‘I don’t think I’ve read that particular account, no.’ (page 56)
The death of Sylvia Kaye figured dramatically in Thursday afternoon’s edition of the Oxford Mail. By Friday evening Inspector Morse had informed the nation that the police were looking for a dangerous man – facing charges of wilful murder, sexual assault and rape.
But as the obvious leads fade into twilight and darkness, Morse becomes more and more convinced that passion holds the key . . .