Simon
“My tabernacle is spoiled, and all my cords are broken.... There is none to stretch forth my tent anymore and to set up my curtains.”
Creepy, atmospheric, psychological, ripperish thriller about a series of gruesome murders in Victorian London, and an old couple who take in a strange Lodger to help ease their financial woes. This isn’t a whodunnit, it’s pretty obvious who the guilty man is, I mean the title gives it away, and everything is laid out for you at the start of the book. What really is works is the way the author moves the story on towards its conclusion, as Mrs Bunting (one of the landlords) suddenly realises with horror what is happening right under her nose.
There are some issues with this edition. There are some spelling mistakes, and I found some of the dialogue really difficult to follow, but let's just marvel at the fact that this was written in 1911 and was probably way way ahead of its time.
“My tabernacle is spoiled, and all my cords are broken.... There is none to stretch forth my tent anymore and to set up my curtains.”
Creepy, atmospheric, psychological, ripperish thriller about a series of gruesome murders in Victorian London, and an old couple who take in a strange Lodger to help ease their financial woes. This isn’t a whodunnit, it’s pretty obvious who the guilty man is, I mean the title gives it away, and everything is laid out for you at the start of the book. What really is works is the way the author moves the story on towards its conclusion, as Mrs Bunting (one of the landlords) suddenly realises with horror what is happening right under her nose.
There are some issues with this edition. There are some spelling mistakes, and I found some of the dialogue really difficult to follow, but let's just marvel at the fact that this was written in 1911 and was probably way way ahead of its time.