So the butler chose that convenient moment to come back through the French doors and see me holding her. The main hallway of the Sternwood place was two stories high. It was neat, fussy, womanish. I was as wet as I could get already. The path took us along to the side of the greenhouse and the butler opened a door for me and stood aside. A heavy book, well bound, handsomely printed in handset type on fine paper. «I guess you have had practice,» I said.
Ohls backed away, made a noise in his throat and put a match to his little cigar. Geiger wasn't in his flounced bed or under it or in his closet. I thought she was going to fall on her nose. The General spoke again, slowly, using his strength as carefully as an out-of-work show-girl uses her last good pair of stockings. I nodded and asked: «When did he go? You may take your coat off, sir. I drifted down to the next house above it, which seemed empty but had no signs out.
I leaned against a pepper tree in the parkway and waited. I went out of the store and west on the boulevard to the corner and north on the street to the alley which ran behind the stores. It was too early in the fall for that kind of rain. I gave the fresh-faced kid too much money and he gave me a dog-eared business card which for once I didn't drop into the majolica jar of sand beside the elevator bank. I guess you thought that was a secret. I caught sight of him two or three times and then made him turning north into Laurel Canyon Drive. Then a soft messy thump.
I was two blocks behind the coupe before I got in the groove. A few months before he came-that is to say about nine or ten months ago-I paid a man named Joe Brody five thousand dollars to let my younger daughter Carmen alone. Two blocks up, Brittany Place swung to the east and met Randall Place in a tongue of land on which there was a white apartment house with its front on Randall Place and its basement garage opening on Brittany. That's where the 1978 version excels - and fails. » «Snap it up,» he said.
Mitchum was 60 at the time of filming, far older than Chandler's 33-year-old Marlowe or the 1946 film's 38-year-old Marlowe played by a 44-year-old. I really love the original. I didn't suppose they would want to. Neither of them has any more moral sense than a cat. She said carefully: «You wish to know what he looks like and you don't want to interview him? Ten blocks of that, winding down curved rain-swept streets, under the steady drip of trees, past lighted windows in big houses in ghostly enormous grounds, vague clusters of eaves and gables and lighted windows high on the hillside, remote and inaccessible, like witch houses in a forest.
It opened into a sort of vestibule that was about as warm as a slow oven. I seem to exist largely on heat, like a newborn spider, and the orchids are an excuse for the heat. When Marlowe goes to meet him and be taken to where she is hiding, he spots Canino, a gunman hired by Mars, who is there to find Agnes himself. The portrait was a stiffly posed job of an officer in full regimentals of about the time of the Mexican war. When he gets there, Marlowe is attacked by Canino. Meantime I am being blackmailed again.
Mitchum, Sarah Miles and John Mills reunited for this film, having starred together eight years before in. Cars were parked on both sides of the highway, the usual ghouls, of both sexes. Above the mantel there was a large oil portrait, and above the portrait two bullet-torn or moth-eaten cavalry pennants crossed in a glass frame. She reveals that she has seen Mona Mars behind an auto repair shop near a town called Realito. It could hardly be the General himself, even though I had heard he was pretty far gone in years to have a couple of daughters still in the dangerous twenties. If you don't want to, I can't make you.
I listened to the rain hitting the roof and the north windows. Whoever he is and whatever he has. She didn't mind the slaps. » «It's a bookstore,» I said. I went into a hall at the back of the room and investigated the house. He was on his back on the floor, beyond the fringe of the Chinese rug, in front of a thing that looked like a totem pole. A big curly-headed Irishman from Clonmel, with sad eyes and a smile as wide as Wilshire Boulevard.