The Godwulf Manuscript

by Robert B. Parker

I wondered if it was a mark of advancing years when you no longer wanted to neck in the snow.

New rich seem to want a lot of land for a gardener to manicure. Old rich don’t seem to give a damn.

The mob, the cops, the university had all told me to mind my own business. Not a bad trio; I was waiting for a threat from organized religion.

The trouble with being up and at ’em bright and early was once you were up most of the ’em that you wanted to be at weren’t out yet.

Her eyes behind the big pinkish eyeglasses were as warm and as deep as the end of a pool cue.