The Devil's Paw - Oppenheim, E. Phillips
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The two men, sole occupants of the somewhat shabby cottage parlour, lingered over their port, not so much with the air of wine lovers, but rather as human beings and intimates, perfectly content with their surroundings and company. Outside, the wind was howling over the marshes, and occasional bursts of rain came streaming against the window panes. Inside at any rate was comfort, triumphing over varying conditions. The cloth upon the plain deal table was of fine linen, the decanter and glasses were beautifully cut; there were walnuts and, in a far Corner, cigars of a well-known brand and…mehr

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Produktbeschreibung
The two men, sole occupants of the somewhat shabby cottage parlour, lingered over their port, not so much with the air of wine lovers, but rather as human beings and intimates, perfectly content with their surroundings and company. Outside, the wind was howling over the marshes, and occasional bursts of rain came streaming against the window panes. Inside at any rate was comfort, triumphing over varying conditions. The cloth upon the plain deal table was of fine linen, the decanter and glasses were beautifully cut; there were walnuts and, in a far Corner, cigars of a well-known brand and cigarettes from a famous tobacconist. Beyond that little oasis, however, were all the evidences of a hired abode. A hole in the closely drawn curtains was fastened together by a safety pin. The horsehair easy-chairs bore disfiguring antimacassars, the photographs which adorned the walls were grotesque but typical of village ideals, the carpet was threadbare, the closed door secured by a latch instead of the usual knob. One side of the room was littered with golf clubs, a huge game bag and several boxes of cartridges. Two shotguns lay upon the remains of a sofa. It scarcely needed the costume of Miles Furley, the host, to demonstrate the fact that this was the temporary abode of a visitor to the Blakeney marshes in search of sport.
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Autorenporträt
Edward Phillips Oppenheim was an English author who lived from October 22, 1866, to February 3, 1946. He wrote a lot of best-selling genre fiction with glamorous characters, international drama, and fast-paced action. They were popular forms of fun because they were easy to read. In 1927, he was on the cover of Time magazine. Edward Phillips Oppenheim was born in Tottenham, London, on October 22, 1866. His parents were Henrietta Susannah Temperley Budd and a leather merchant named Edward John Oppenheim. He went to Wyggeston Grammar School until the sixth form in 1883, but had to quit because his family couldn't afford it. For almost twenty years, he worked in his father's business. His father helped pay for the release of his first book, which did just enough to cover its costs. It was under the name "Anthony Partridge" that he released five of his books from 1908 to 1912. To help Oppenheim's writing career, Julien Stevens Ulman (1865-1920), a rich New York leather merchant who liked Oppenheim's books, bought the leather works around 1900 and made him a paid director. He quickly came up with a method that worked and made a name for himself. John Buchan, who was just starting out as a suspense writer, called Oppenheim "my master in fiction" and "the greatest Jewish writer since Isaiah" in 1913.