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Death of a Dentist (Hamish Macbeth, Book 13) by M. C. Beaton

By M. C. Beaton

Unique booklet: 1997

Lovable Scottish constable Hamish Macbeth -- who could otherwise be fishing than detecting -- needs to root out one other felony in his 13th charmingly smart case.

As the small village of Lochdubh has no dentist, locals shuttle 20 miles to Frederick Gilchrist's dental surgical procedure within the city of Braikie. even though Lochdubh's one-man police strength, Hamish Macbeth, prefers the extra sleek, painless approaches practiced by way of dentists within the urban of Inverness, a stunning toothache one morning convinces him to provide Gilchrist a test. Upon arriving, Hamish reveals the dentist lifeless at the flooring, a sufferer of nicotine poisoning. studying that the deceased was once a non-smoker, Hamish needs to positioned his personal toothache on ice -- to extract a assassin at the unfastened.

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Example text

Morse. ' 'Odd name! ' 'As well? Your name's Morse Morse? Like that man in Catch 22 isn't it? ' 'Did you know the Coleridge quotation? ' Morse looked at her eyes, and for a few seconds looked deeply into her eyes - and saw a hazel-green concoloration there, with sign now of any bloodshot webbing. ' 'I work for a model agency. No, that's wrong. ' Morse nodded vaguely. 'I've driven through that part once or twice. Combe Bissett? ' ‘Quite near, yes. But what about you? ' 'I'm a sort of glorified clerk, really.

Maps of Wytham Woods and Blenheim Park drawn by Graeme James. Weather and rain have undone it again, And now you would never know There was once a road through the woods Before they planted the trees. It is underneath the coppice and heath And the thin anemones. Only the keeper sees That, where the ring-dove broods, And the badgers roll at ease, There was once a road through the woods. From The Way Through the Woods by Rudyard Kipling WYTHAM WOODS THE WAY THROUGH THE WOODS PROLEGOMENON Though your sins be as scarlet, they shall be whiter, yea whiter, than snow (Isaiah, ch.

Quite near, yes. But what about you? ' 'I'm a sort of glorified clerk, really. ' she asked softly in his ear. Morse put the drinks on his room-bill and returned with one large brandy and one large malt Scotch. Several other couples were enjoying their liqueurs in that happily appointed bar, and Morse looked out from the window at the constantly whitening waves before placing the drinks side by side on the table. ' ‘You're a liar,' she said. The three words hit Morse like an uppercut, and he had no time to regain his balance before she continued, mercilessly: "You're a copper.

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