But the descriptions were always there - one of the strongest threads running through the novels from first to last. And even at their most acridly poisonous they still kept something of the wide-eyed lyricism of that beautiful line in Farewell My Lovely about a dark night in the canyons - the night Marlowe drove Lindsay Marriott to meet his death. "A yellow window hung here and there by itself, like the last orange".
excerpt from
The Country Behind the Hill : Raymond Chandler
Clive James
1977
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