Raisins and almonds - Poisoned Pen Press (UK)
Raisins and almonds - Poisoned Pen Press (UK) Raisins and almonds - Poisoned Pen Press (UK)
Raisins and Almonds 4 were as alert as a fox’s; indeed there was something foxy about him, except that he had the unshakeable confidence of being his mother’s favourite or only child. His close-shaven jaw was slightly shadowed, his tie pin was a little too emphatic, his suit a little too formal for so early in the morning, and his buttonhole of a pink rose quite outrageous according to the canons of public-school taste. Phryne was very pleased with her acquisition. ‘Delighted,’ he murmured, looking into her eyes. She bit into a crust and the young man dragged his gaze away and caught sight of her bedtime reading. He shuffled quickly through the books. ‘Ah, yes. Mr. Goldman.’ ‘Have you read it?’ asked Phryne, spreading cherry jam on her roll. ‘Yes, certainly. “The Jewish problem is not a Jewish problem, but a gentile problem, and only the gentiles can solve it.” The trouble with being a Jew—apart from being Chosen and presumably God knew what he was doing when he Chose us—is that we have no home. There really is no place where the Jews have not lived for years and felt safe which has not turned against them. We exist everywhere on sufferance—here, for example.’ ‘Here?’ Phryne sat up a little. ‘There have been no pogroms here.’ ‘No, but immigration is restricted. If there was an emergency somewhere—Russia, for example—and the Jews had to flee, as they fled in 1492 from Ferdinand and Isabella in Spain, where would they go? Our own assimilationists would keep the Russians out, saying that there was no room in this country for the sweepings of the Soviet ghettos as they said about the immigrants fleeing the Czarist May laws in 1881. The Jews who have been here for a couple of generations—and Australia has only been settled for a few generations, you know—would keep the others away because they are afraid of turning even this laconic place against us. They are afraid of there being too many Jews attracting too much attention and envy. We have not forgotten Ikey Mo in the Bulletin in the nineties, you know.’
44 Kerry Greenwood ‘The Bulletin in the nineties hated everyone,’ objected Phryne. ‘Along with Ikey Mo there was Johnnie Chinaman and Jacky-Jacky the aborigine and Paddy the drunken Irishman; and they weren’t keen on women, either, looking on my own sex, as I understand, as the root of all evil. But what’s the solution? If your own people want to restrict immigration, what is to be done?’ ‘A homeland,’ said Simon, and his face shone with a pure light of dedication. ‘Where?’ asked Phryne, putting the tray on her bedside table. ‘Palestine…’ He looked so beautiful, his long lashes lowered over the bright eyes, that Phryne reached out and caressed the curly hair and the smooth cheek. Simon Abrahams nestled into the touch and kissed her palm, and Phryne gasped. Her hand dropped to the broadcloth lap, and Simon made the same noise. She undid his tie, shucked his coat, took the studs from his sleeves. ‘Come and lie down with me,’ she whispered. He took the rose from his coat and shed the petals over Phryne. They slid down her shiny black hair and were scattered over her pillow and her breast. From then on, it was simple. She lay and watched him undress, shedding broadcloth and linen, young enough to pull impatiently at the shirt where the buttons would not release their grip. The slim body emerged like a flower from a calyx: long legs, slim hands and feet, a wiry body used to some hard labour. He was entirely naked when he slid down alongside Phryne in her silken bed, and the cream nightdress was already cast aside. Cool morning light made an icon, strangely religious, of the young man with the Middle Eastern face. Phryne felt him shiver as their bodies touched at a thousand points, and she ran both hands down his smooth back, her fingers curling over the muscular buttocks and sliding inward to cup the denuded genitalia in a gratifying state of excitement. Jews, Phryne had been told, did not enjoy sex as much as gentiles because of circumcision. As she sank into a bath of
- Page 1 and 2: Raisins and almonds A Phryne Fisher
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- Page 15 and 16: Kerry Greenwood Market. I am the la
- Page 17 and 18: Chapter Two cis 1.4. polyisoprene D
- Page 19 and 20: 10 Kerry Greenwood swear that this
- Page 21 and 22: 1 Kerry Greenwood ‘I take your po
- Page 23 and 24: 14 Kerry Greenwood The escorting wa
- Page 25 and 26: 1 Kerry Greenwood doesn’t read no
- Page 27 and 28: 18 Kerry Greenwood myself an egg an
- Page 29 and 30: 0 Kerry Greenwood Phryne moved to a
- Page 31 and 32: Chapter Three Nigredo is called the
- Page 33 and 34: 4 Kerry Greenwood She hadn’t actu
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- Page 37 and 38: 8 Kerry Greenwood Dot, suddenly con
- Page 39 and 40: 0 Kerry Greenwood pleased to see bo
- Page 41 and 42: Kerry Greenwood looked equally vill
- Page 43 and 44: 4 Kerry Greenwood the stone ceiling
- Page 45 and 46: Kerry Greenwood ‘Hmm. Two passpor
- Page 47 and 48: 8 Kerry Greenwood Jew hands, organs
- Page 49 and 50: 40 Kerry Greenwood Ember walked int
- Page 51: 4 Kerry Greenwood ‘For spring,’
- Page 55 and 56: 4 Kerry Greenwood ‘Well, gentle l
- Page 57 and 58: Chapter Five Rubedo is the ascensio
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- Page 67 and 68: 8 Kerry Greenwood the highest, the
- Page 69 and 70: 0 Kerry Greenwood ‘Certainly. Is
- Page 71 and 72: Kerry Greenwood the delicate draper
- Page 73 and 74: 4 Kerry Greenwood ‘It is,’ said
- Page 75 and 76: Kerry Greenwood and Phryne reflecte
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- Page 81 and 82: Kerry Greenwood She nodded and said
- Page 83 and 84: Chapter Seven Without counsel purpo
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- Page 91 and 92: 8 Kerry Greenwood ‘It is a number
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- Page 99 and 100: 0 Kerry Greenwood Phryne liked Bert
- Page 101 and 102: Kerry Greenwood the table. Ruth had
<strong>Raisins</strong> <strong>and</strong> Almonds 4<br />
were as alert as a fox’s; indeed there was something foxy about<br />
him, except that he had the unshakeable confidence of being his<br />
mother’s favourite or only child. His close-shaven jaw was slightly<br />
shadowed, his tie pin was a little too emphatic, his suit a little too<br />
formal for so early in the morning, <strong>and</strong> his buttonhole of a pink<br />
rose quite outrageous according to the canons of public-school<br />
taste. Phryne was very pleased with her acquisition.<br />
‘Delighted,’ he murmured, looking into her eyes. She bit into a<br />
crust <strong>and</strong> the young man dragged his gaze away <strong>and</strong> caught sight<br />
of her bedtime reading. He shuffled quickly through the books.<br />
‘Ah, yes. Mr. Goldman.’<br />
‘Have you read it?’ asked Phryne, spreading cherry jam on<br />
her roll.<br />
‘Yes, certainly. “The Jewish problem is not a Jewish problem,<br />
but a gentile problem, <strong>and</strong> only the gentiles can solve it.” The<br />
trouble with being a Jew—apart from being Chosen <strong>and</strong> presumably<br />
God knew what he was doing when he Chose us—is that we<br />
have no home. There really is no place where the Jews have not<br />
lived for years <strong>and</strong> felt safe which has not turned against them.<br />
We exist everywhere on sufferance—here, for example.’<br />
‘Here?’ Phryne sat up a little. ‘There have been no pogroms<br />
here.’<br />
‘No, but immigration is restricted. If there was an emergency<br />
somewhere—Russia, for example—<strong>and</strong> the Jews had to<br />
flee, as they fled in 1492 from Ferdin<strong>and</strong> <strong>and</strong> Isabella in Spain,<br />
where would they go? Our own assimilationists would keep the<br />
Russians out, saying that there was no room in this country for<br />
the sweepings of the Soviet ghettos as they said about the immigrants<br />
fleeing the Czarist May laws in 1881. The Jews who have<br />
been here for a couple of generations—<strong>and</strong> Australia has only<br />
been settled for a few generations, you know—would keep the<br />
others away because they are afraid of turning even this laconic<br />
place against us. They are afraid of there being too many Jews<br />
attracting too much attention <strong>and</strong> envy. We have not forgotten<br />
Ikey Mo in the Bulletin in the nineties, you know.’
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