The Discourtesy Of Death (Father Anselm Novels) - Plot & Excerpts
The unshaven man in the grey overcoat, collar turned up, appeared to have been ravaged by alcohol and years of sleeping outdoors in winter. It was the only comparison Anselm could make. He’d seen the ragged figures of shattered humanity limping around Waterloo and Blackfriars and Peter Henderson had found a place in their number. His brown eyes were deep and bleeding. The bags of dark blue skin beneath the lids seemed to have been stretched by the weight of sleepless nights. The black hair was all that remained of the well-known commentator and intellectual. It was still tangled and professorial, evidence of someone who always woke up thinking and dragged a hand over his head with intellectual dismay. ‘I read of you with interest, Father,’ he said, holding out his hand. ‘The line that struck me most came towards the end. It was a summary of your work. Of what you do that makes you different: “…justice had been done in places beyond the reach of the law”. That is quite an achievement.’ Anselm took the firm grip with a cautious nod of acknowledgement.
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