‘If it goes on like this they will have a bad day for the funeral.’ Lord Peter Wimsey glanced out of the morning-room window to the soaked green lawn and the shrubbery, where the rain streamed down remorselessly over the laurel leaves, stiff and shiny like mackintoshes. ‘Nasty exposed business, standing round at funerals,’ he agreed. ‘Yes, I always think it’s such a shame for the old people. In a tiny village like this it’s about the only pleasure they get during the winter. It makes something for them to talk about for weeks.’ ‘Is it anybody’s funeral in particular?’ ‘My dear Wimsey,’ said his host, ‘it is plain that you, coming from your little village of London, are quite out of the swim. There has never been a funeral like it in Little Doddering before. It’s an event.’ ‘Really?’ ‘Oh dear, yes. You may possibly remember old Burdock?’ ‘Burdock? Let me see.
What do You think about Lord Peter Views The Body?
