As soon as I sat down to get my quotes today, the name
Dashiell Hammett popped into my head. No idea why, but I'm going with it.
Who shot him? I asked.
.
The grey man scratched the back of his neck and said: Somebody with a gun.
...
The truth is you don't like the theater except the times when you're in a room by yourself putting the play on paper.
...
After a fraction of a year in high school- Baltimore Polytechnic Institute—I became the unsatisfactory and unsatisfied employee of various railroads, stock brokers, machine manufacturers, canners, and the like. Usually I was fired.
.
An enigmatic want-ad took me into the employ of Pinkerton's National Detective Agency, and I stuck at that until early 1922, when I chucked it to see what I could do with fiction writing.
...
Samuel Spade's jaw was long and bony, his chin a jutting v under the more flexible v of his mouth. His nostrils curved back to make another, smaller v. His yellow-grey eyes were horizontal. The v motif was picked up again by his thickish brows rising outward from twin creases above a hooked nose, and his pale brown hair grew down -- from high flat temples -- in a point on his forehead. He looked rather pleasantly like a blond satan.
...
Dorothy patted the dog's head and left us.
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We found a table. Nora said: "She's pretty."
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"If you like them like that."
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She grinned at me. "You got types?"
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"Only you, darling -- lanky brunettes with wicked jaws."
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"And how about the red-head you wandered off with at the Quinns' last night?"
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"That's silly," I said. "She just wanted to show me some French etchings."
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