Publisher's Synopsis
It's the story of blunt knives trying to wound, and, poisons sneaked into bedside glasses, and, fired shots lighting moonless nights, missing their targets, or reaching them. And it's the story of shaking thoughts and tearful passions, hidden behind dirty aprons and refined capes. It's a story of murders-to-happen, judgment and injustice, and justice, of course. And it's a tale of love and the impossibility of it, and possibility and the tastes and hopes, ruthless as a daytime dream and sweet as a smear of jam left on the index finger. But it's not only a story of these famous occurrences. Like all self-respecting stories one tries to keep a mystery until the gripping tale drags naive readers to the breaking point, even if it isn't worth a brass farthing, the beginning should be cautious and measured, despite the indefatigable wish of the rapiers to run through the dusty curtain and cleave all the secrets of twilights through, to the eyes. And . . .
