The Curse of the Pharaohs (Amelia Peabody, #2)

by Elizabeth Peters

Five years of marriage have taught me that even if one is unamused by the (presumed) wit of one’s spouse, one does not say so. Some concessions to temperament are necessary if the marital state is to flourish. And I must confess that in most respects the state agrees with me. Emerson is a remarkable person, considering that he is a man. Which is not saying a great deal.

I immediately removed her from my list of suspects. The fact that she had not yet exterminated her mother proved that she was incapable of violence.

I do not scruple to employ mendacity and a fictitious appearance of female incompetence when the occasion demands it.

“For once in your life, Peabody, do as I ask! If anything happens to you, I will murder you!”

“Why did you not go with Emerson, to protect him?” “Emerson left me here, to guard the treasure dearer to him than the gold of the pharaoh.”

“In fact,” he said, “we should call it a draw. You tried to shoot me, I tried to poison you. As I said before, Peabody, we are well matched.”