"You see Mrs Barnicott, it just happens that I know rather a lot about your husband and about the circumstances of his death. And one of the things I know is that his death wasnt an accident. And you know it too... because you killed him." She could hardly believe she was actually hearing what the voice on the telephone was saying. While life as the third wife of a celebrated, cruel and egocentric Classics Professor had hardly been a bed of roses, murder had never entered her head. Now, it seemed that to the indignities of widowhood fear was to be added. There were times, for instance, when it looked as though her husband, who was indisputably dead, simply wouldnt die - what with messages lying about in his handwriting, work obviously continuing on an unfinished manuscript, to say nothing of disturbed files, and a macabre figure occasionally glimpsed in the attic or the study. Then there was the time she knew, beyond a doubt, that her life was in danger...
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