I'm reading Margot Livesey's "The House on Fortune Street" this week. It's billed as a novel, but actually it's a series of four novellas, all around a single character.
Here are the opening lines:
"The letter came, deceptively, in the kind of envelope a businesslike friend, or his supervisor, might use. It was typed on heavy white paper and signed with the pleasing name of Beth Giardini."
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