A Brief Pause in a Journey

"One would not have thought," he said, "that in this cold military officer there was so much passion, so much love for this Italian woman, his wife. But the English are like that. On the surface, cold and businesslike. With the English it is always business, one thinks. But below, who knows what fires may slumber!" He frowned. "I have seen much of life, but one can never understand the English and the Americans. They are inscrutable." He stroked his beard. "It was a beautiful blow, and the curious noise made by the Italian was very satisfactory. Straight to the chin. The Italian fell like a stone.

The above passage is from Epitaph For A Spy by Eric Ambler, and I submit simply because enjoyed the reading of it so much. The protagonist is a self-important elderly pensioner, much given to lies and outright fabrication; perhaps if you summon your imagination to the fore you can picture him smugly declaiming about the "very satisfactory" sound the Italian made when struck.

Becoming a reader is very much like entering into a large mansion, with unending rooms and scores upon scores of doors, all leading into another room, and then into another. At this writing I can't remember the door that led me to Alan Furst, but it was a door therein that led me to Eric Ambler. I haven't discovered yet a door leading from Ambler, but no matter - the joy of this mansion is that you can abide in a room as long as you wish and still be able to track back upon your journey and take a different turning. For there is no need to exit from this house, though you may pause on occasion. The keys were given to me when I first learned to string words together into a sentence and I doubt I'll ever leave this side of the grave.