Book Name: Still Life
Writer: Louise Penny
Miss Jane Neal met her creator in the early morning fog of
ThanksgivingSunday. It was practically unexpected for what it’s worth. Miss
Neal’s was not a natural death, except if you’re of the conviction everything
occurs as it should. Assuming this is the case, for her 76 years, Jane Neal
had been strolling toward this last moment when passing met her in the
splendid maple woods very nearly the town of Three Pines. She’d fallen
spread-eagled, like creation heavenly attendants in the bright and weak
leaves. Chief Inspector Armand Gamache of the Surete du Quebec stooped
down; his knees breaking like the report of a tracker’s rifle, his enormous,
expressive hand hovering over the little hover of blood damaging her fleecy
cardigan, like performer he could eliminate the injury and reestablish the
lady. Yet, he could not. That wasn’t his blessing. Luckily for Gamache, he
had others. The fragrance of mothballs, his grandma’s aroma, met him
midway. Jane’s delicate and kindly eyes gazed like astounded to see him. He was astonished to see her.
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