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Bus Story: All That is Missing is a Dead Body

September 17, 2009

It’s a foggy morning, with the misty air swirling around bus stops and the treetops. On the bus, there is a young woman knitting. All I can see of her is her hands, deftly working the needles and yarn, with occasional glimpses of her round, warm face with hair pulled tightly in a bun. Across from her is an older woman who brings to mind Miss Marple. Not quite Margaret Rutherford, but close. And the combination of the mist, the knitting, and Agatha Christie’s sleuth makes me smile, transported to a train in England, sometime in the early part of the last century.


From → Bus Stories

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