George Bellairs

“To the west of the Great North Road and just where it chops off a portion of the eastern fringe of Brentshire, there lies a district of England which has given its name to a fine breed of sheep, a heavy-cropping tomato, an inferior mangel-wurzel and a now obsolete form of the ague found there before the marshes were drained.”
― George Bellairs, Death Stops the Frolic

“There is naturally much inter-marriage among Zionists, and in times of trouble families are united, those with even the most attenuated blood connections arraying themselves with their kith and kin. The dispute over Harbuttle and his offers of marriage, therefore, grows into a miniature war of the roses. In no time, the classroom is filled to overflowing with a crowd of angry, milling women, pushing each other about, afraid to smite hard but resorting to jostling, charging, thrusting and pulling tactics and using arms, elbows, bosoms, hindquarters and knees like battering rams. The noise is appalling. Speech flows freely and angry, vulgar words rush forth in torrents. Place, dignity, decorum are all forgotten in this release of pent-up feelings. The saintly, peace-loving women who one by one thrust themselves in the doorway of the room hoping in some way to calm the storm, are unwillingly sucked into the maelstrom and, before they know where they are, are rampaging with the rest. The men, dumbfounded and nonplussed, hang back, knowing that once they intrude, the bloody masculine forms of combat may supervene and replace the more dishevelled and shrill, but less deadly feminine type.”
― George Bellairs, Death Stops the Frolic