Sunday, June 03, 2007

Agatha Christie Deaths, Part 1.

Following Mahmoud, she climbed the rock and walked along until she came to the squat figure in the chair, touched the hand, felt for the pulse, bent over her... When she straightened herself she was paler.
Pg 68, Appointment with Death (1938)

Some few minutes later he stood looking down at the mortal remains of Cora Lansquenet. She had been savagely attacked and the henna dyed fringe was clotted and stiffened with blood. Mr Entwhistle's lips tightened and he looked away queasily.
Pg 29, After the Funeral (1953)

A few yards away Bridget lay in the snow. She was wearing scarlet pyjamas and a white wool wrap thrown round her shoulders. The white wool wrap was stained with crimson. Her head was turned aside and hidden by the mass of her outspread black hair. One arm was under her body, the other lay flung out, the fingers clenched, and standing up in the centre of the crimson stain was the hilt of the large curved Kurdish knife which Colonel Lacey had shown to his guests only the evening before.
Pg 40, The Adventure of the Christmas Pudding (1960)

As he did not move I repeated my request in a slightly louder tone. He still made no response. I then took him by the shoulder to waken him. His body slumped down further and I became aware that he was either unconscious or seriously ill. I called out: "This gentleman has taken ill. Fetch the commissionaire." The commissionaire came. As I took my hand from the man's shoulder I found it was wet and red...
Pg 142, The ABC Murders (1936)

Chief Inspector Davy went down on one knee. His torch came out. The tall Irish commissionaire had fallen like a soldier. The left hand side of his tunic showed a wet patch that was growing wetter as the blood oozed out into the cloth. Davy rolled up an eyelid, touched a wrist. He rose to his feet again. "He's had it all right," he said.
Pg 140, At Bertram's Hotel (1965)

"She did not suffer, and she was unconscious towards the last. She was run over by a motor, you know - and the driver of the car did not even stop. Wicked, isn't it? I hope someone took the number."
Pg 118, The Big Four (1927)

And across the old bearskin hearthrug there was sprawled something new and crude and melodramatic. The flamboyant figure of a girl. A girl with unnaturally fair hair dressed up off her face in elaborate curls and rings. Her thin body was dressed in a backless evening dress of white spangled satin. The face was heavily made-up, the powder standing out grotesquely on its blue swollen surface, the mascara of the lashes lying thickly on the distorted cheeks, the scarlet of the lips looking like a gash.
Pg 16, The Body in the Library (1942)

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