The Weed That Strings the Hangman's Bag (Flavia de Luce, #2)

by Alan Bradley

I could not help thinking of this now, and of the author’s account of the curious circular pigeon towers of Persia, each with a deep central pit for the collection of guano, whose production was the sole reason for keeping the birds.

Sometimes I hated myself. But not for long.

“I need your help.” Damn! She had given the female password—spoken those magic words that stretched back through the mists of time to a bond made in some primordial swamp. I was in her power.