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Prepared to accept that Edward's death was due to a long-standing physical infirmity, Julia is outraged when Brisbane visits and suggests that Sir Edward has been murdered. It is a reaction she comes to regret when she discovers the damning paper for herself, and realizes the truth.
Determined to bring her husband's murderer to justice, Julia engages the enigmatic Brisbane to help her investigate Edward's demise. Dismissing his warnings that the investigation will be difficult, if not impossible, Julia presses forward, following a trail of clues that lead her to even more unpleasant truths, and ever closer to a killer who waits expectantly for her arrival.
Audiobook
First published December 19, 2006

To say that I met Nicholas Brisbane over my husband's dead body is not entirely accurate. Edward, it should be noted, was still twitching upon the floor.
He had nothing to call his own except dead men's shoes, and I think the highly Oedipal flavor of his existence sometimes proved too much for him.
"If you were a man, your ladyship, I would cordially horsewhip you for that remark. As you are not, I will simply bid you farewell and leave you to your fresh and obviously debilitating grief." He said this last with a contemptuous glance at the Italian books piled on my desk and strode from the room.Lady Julia Grey Mystery Series
(p66)
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"Did you mean what you said? You will pursue this?"
Brisbane sipped at his tea. "I suppose. I have a few other matters that I must bring to conclusion, but nothing that cannot wait. And I have no other clients questioning either my integrity or my courage at present."
(p107)
There was a box inside, but no message. Just a bit of soft cotton wool and a thin silver pendant, struck with the head of Medusa, strung on a black silk cord. I turned it over, running my finger over the new engraving, freshly incised onto the reverse of the gorgon head. It was a series of letters and numbers, a code, but perfectly decipherable to one who had been fed Shakespeare with mother’s milk. 2HVIIIIii362. No child of Hector March could mistake that attribution. It was from The Second Part of Henry VI, the third act, the second scene, line 362. 'For where thou art, there is the world itself.' I threaded the cord under my collar, tucking the coin into the hollow of my throat, where it had lain so often on him.
There was a box inside, but no message. Just a bit of soft cotton wool and a thin silver pendant, struck with the head of Medusa, strung on a black silk cord. I turned it over, running my finger over the new engraving, freshly incised onto the reverse of the gorgon head. It was a series of letters and numbers, a code, but perfectly decipherable to one who had been fed Shakespeare with mother’s milk. 2HVIIIIii362. No child of Hector March could mistake that attribution. It was from The Second Part of Henry VI, the third act, the second scene, line 362. 'For where thou art, there is the world itself.' I threaded the cord under my collar, tucking the coin into the hollow of my throat, where it had lain so often on him.


