By Margaret Frazer
Functioning at the marriage of Sir Edmund Deneby's daughter, the participant Joliffe has one other job to perform—as a secret agent. As he uncovers the secrets and techniques of the Denebys' sordid heritage, it turns into transparent that this marriage ceremony social gathering is destined to finish in tragedy.
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Additional resources for A Play of Dux Moraud (Joliffe the Player, Book 2)
She would turn out a ball of dough the size of a soup pot, and she'd roll it this way and that until it was a flat circle in the center of the table. Cookies you could cut from such dough, but it wasn't strudel dough yet. " Why she was talking strudel with the babies squalling and Mrs. Meltzer's eyes red from her own crying, no one knew. But Mrs. Meltzer listened, and at least Page 20 the tears had stopped sliding down her face like raindrops on a window. "Then Bubbie would begin to pull the dough, an inch here, an inch there, all around the table.
Today's dirty dishes were piled on yesterday's. "I'm not much of a maven," Leybe said, smiling her way through a weak apology. " "You visited him in the hospital after the oil fire, yes, I remember. " "A few scars on his chin. " Leybe paused, and Kitty guessed there was more to tell; Leybe's eyes were glistening. She whispered in Yiddish, "He's asked me to marry him. " Reuven looked up sharply, surprised that Leybe had a sweetheart, or maybe it was just that he understood these few words out of the last thousand.
Did Papa have such a thing in his throat? Did Jake? She had never noticed anything so utterly masculine, and now she blushed at the discovery. Papa tore pieces of sandwich into small bites for <><><><><><><><><><><><> Page 18 Hershel, but Hershel wasn't satisfied. He climbed on Reuven's lap and wrinkled up his face as the opening act of his wailing performance. With his perpetual stuffy nose, he always sounded like he had a motor running in his throat. Maybe it needed a little oil. Today's dirty dishes were piled on yesterday's.