Sublime

fingers. The

I was going downtown to kill a man who hadn’t done a damned thing to me, to kill an old guy whose only fault as far as I knew was throwing chewing gum wrappers in the street. I was going to kill him because I wanted money more than I wanted him to live and I was going to kill him filthily. Or maybe I wasn’t. Maybe he was going to kill me and go on

The Murder of Roger Ackroyd

yeggs;

With a stand-alone crime, you have no way of knowing what’s pure chance and what’s a clue,