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The Hound of the Baskervilles [Paperback]

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  • Category: Books (Fiction)
  • Author:  Doyle, Arthur Conan
  • Author:  Doyle, Arthur Conan
  • ISBN-10:  0345350529
  • ISBN-10:  0345350529
  • ISBN-13:  9780345350527
  • ISBN-13:  9780345350527
  • Publisher:  Fawcett
  • Publisher:  Fawcett
  • Pages:  192
  • Pages:  192
  • Binding:  Paperback
  • Binding:  Paperback
  • Pub Date:  01-May-1987
  • Pub Date:  01-May-1987
  • SKU:  0345350529-11-SPLV
  • SKU:  0345350529-11-SPLV
  • Item ID: 100627567
  • Seller: ShopSpell
  • Ships in: 2 business days
  • Transit time: Up to 5 business days
  • Delivery by: Nov 21 to Nov 23
  • Notes: Brand New Book. Order Now.

The curse of the Baskervilles began in the 17th Century, when Sir Hugo swore he would give his soul to possess the beautiful daughter of a yeoman. He captured her, but she escaped. He saddled his horse and chased the girl over the moors until she dropped dead from exhaustion . . . and then a black hell-hound appeared, with eyes like fire, and ripped out Hugo's throat.
Now, years later, the Hound has returned. Already it has caused the death of Hugo's descendant, Sir Charles Baskerville. Can Sherlock Holmes stop the curse before it claims Henry Baskerville, the heir of Sir Charles?“The whole Sherlock Holmes saga is a triumphant illustration of art’s supremacy over life.” —Christopher MorleyLaurie R. Kingis theNew York Timesbestselling author of twelve Mary Russell mysteries (one of which,The Moor,was inspired in part byThe Hound of the Baskervilles), five contemporary novels featuring Kate Martinelli, and the acclaimed novelsA Darker Place, Folly, Keeping Watch,andTouchstone. She lives in Northern California.CHAPTER I
Mr. Sherlock Holmes

Mr. Sherlock Holmes, who was usually very late in the mornings, save upon those not infrequent occasions when he stayed up all night, was seated at the breakfast table. I stood upon the hearth-rug and picked up the stick which our visitor had left behind him the night before. It was a fine, thick piece of wood, bulbous-headed, of the sort which is known as a “Penang lawyer.” Just under the head was a broad silver band, nearly an inch across. “To James Mortimer, M.R.C.S., from his friends of the C.C.H.,” was engraved upon it, with the date “1884.” It was just such a stick as the old-fashioned family practitioner used to carry—dignified, solid, and reassuring. “Well, Watson, what do you make of it?” Holmes was sitting with his back to me, and I had given him no sign of my occupation. l³Q

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