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Название книги: The Likeness
Автор(ы): Tana French
Жанр: Триллер
Адрес книги: http://www.6lib.ru/books/The-Likeness-184694.html
The second book in the Rob Ryan and Cassie Maddox series, 2008
For Anthony, for a million reasons
Prologue
Some nights, if I’m sleeping on my own, I still dream about Whitethorn House. In the dream it’s always spring, cool fine light with a late-afternoon haze. I climb the worn stone steps and knock on the door-that great brass knocker, going black with age and heavy enough to startle you every time-and an old woman with an apron and a deft, uncompromising face lets me in. Then she hangs the big rusted key back on her belt and walks away down the drive, under the falling cherry blossom, and I close the door behind her.The house is always empty. The bedrooms are bare and bright, only my footsteps echoing off the floorboards, circling up through the sun and the dust motes to the high ceilings. Smell of wild hyacinths, drifting through the wide-open windows, and of beeswax polish. Chips of white paint flaking off the window sashes and a tendril of ivy swaying in over the sill. Wood doves, lazy somewhere outside.In the sit
Название книги: The Likeness
Автор(ы): Tana French
Жанр: Триллер
Адрес книги: http://www.6lib.ru/books/The-Likeness-184694.html
The second book in the Rob Ryan and Cassie Maddox series, 2008
For Anthony, for a million reasons
Prologue
Some nights, if I’m sleeping on my own, I still dream about Whitethorn House. In the dream it’s always spring, cool fine light with a late-afternoon haze. I climb the worn stone steps and knock on the door-that great brass knocker, going black with age and heavy enough to startle you every time-and an old woman with an apron and a deft, uncompromising face lets me in. Then she hangs the big rusted key back on her belt and walks away down the drive, under the falling cherry blossom, and I close the door behind her.The house is always empty. The bedrooms are bare and bright, only my footsteps echoing off the floorboards, circling up through the sun and the dust motes to the high ceilings. Smell of wild hyacinths, drifting through the wide-open windows, and of beeswax polish. Chips of white paint flaking off the window sashes and a tendril of ivy swaying in over the sill. Wood doves, lazy somewhere outside.In the sit
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