The House at the Riverton

Yet another satisfying read - this latest book is called "THE HOUSE AT RIVERTON" by Kate Morton and I must say it is absolutely wonderful! Such a thrilling mystery and compelling love story that I found hard to put down. It left me satisfied and yet sad when I came to the end - Need to find more books like that to keep me looking forward.

Another good point about the author is her use of vocabulary and phrases. I actualy circled out sooooo many new words and went to dictionary.com to learn them.

Here are some extracts:

- A strange thing began to happen. Memories long consigned to the dark reaches of my mind, began to sneak through cracks. Images were tossed up high and dry, picture-perfect, as if a lifetime hadn’t passed between. And, after the first tentative drops, the deluge.

- While moths have torn holes in my recent memories, I find the distant past is sharp and clear. They come often lately, those ghosts from the past. Indeed, the specters I have spent my life escaping have become almost a comfort.

- The thread of nervous energy that had infused me all week had overnight become a knot.

- I was swept over the threshold, into my past.

- She bore the cruel etchings (impression, outline, production) of grief. She must have been lovely once. Until some fiendish (cruel, wicked) hardship befell them and seized from her whatever youth or beauty she possessed.

- He has disappeared into a cloud of his own grief. I thought of him, dancing across the globe in the grip of some unruly tune from which he can’t escape.
He will return one day, of that I’ve little doubt, for home is a magnet that lures back even it’s most abstracted children.

- I am no more able to stop this story than I am able to halt the march of time.

- Reluctance to begin is quick to befriend procrastination

- What had I expected? A sudden, magnificently uncharacteristic break from habit? An outpouring of past grievances that explained away my mother’s acrimony (harshness, bitterness), enabled us to reach an understanding that has thus far eluded (escaped) us?

- Small sociable chat was not his métier (forte) in life, and his narration, once started, became a desolate conversational island from which there seemed no escape.

- My thoughts are skimming. Coming quickly, fully formed, then slipping away before I can properly grasp them. Like catching a butterfly. It is unsettling, leaves me irritable.

- Hers was a happiness fed by the discontent of others, and when such was not forthcoming, she felt no compunction (remorse) in manufacturing misfortune for some unwitting soul

- Girls have changed. They no longer whispered behind their hands and hid behind shy glances. They joked and drank, smoked and swore with the boys. Waistlines had slipped, fabrics were thin and morals were thinner.

- My tongue formed words but my lips would not oblige.

- I am slipping out of time. The demarcations I’ve observed for a lifetime are suddenly meaningless: seconds, minutes, hours, days. Mere words. All I have are moments.