Completely Unexpected Tales
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Take a pinch of unease. Stir it into a large dollop of the macabre, add a generous helping of dark and stylish wit, garnish with the bizarre and what do you have? Roald Dahl at his brilliant, hypnotizing best, cooking up some of the most unusual stories ever told. Here in one volume are "Tales of the Unexpected and More Tales of the Unexpected", making this a superb compendium of vengeance, surprise and dark delight.
‘Make me cough.’ His smilingmuscle began to twitch again. The beam of a headlamp shone through the window as Ganderbai’s car swung around to the front of the bungalow. I went out to meet him, holding the ice pack with both hands. ‘How is it?’ Ganderbai asked, but he didn’t stop to talk, he walked on past me across the balcony and through the screen doors into the hall. ‘Where is he? Which room?’ He put his bag down on a chair in the hall and followed me into Harry’s room. He was wearing
regions: the great composer, nervous, impatient, waiting to present his latest masterpiece, the audience assembling, the murmur of their excited talk, and so on. Having dreamed himself right into the part, he stood up, picked up his baton and switched on the gramophone. A tremendous wave of clapping filled the room. Mr Botibol walked across the stage, mounted the dais, faced the audience and bowed. In the darkness he could just make out the faint outline of the seats on either side of the centre
hope you won’t blame me too much.’ And he told her. It didn’t take long, four or five minutes at most, and she sat very still through it all, watching him with a kind of dazed horror as he went further and further away from her with each word. ‘So there it is,’ he added. ‘And I know it’s kind of a bad time to be telling you, but there simply wasn’t any other way. Of course Til give you money and see you’re looked after. But there needn’t really be any fuss. I hope not anyway. It wouldn’t be
never seemed quite right together. Also the short walk gave him time to examine the property closely from the outside and to assume the mood most likely to be suitable for the occasion. Mr Boggis strode briskly up the drive. He was a small fat-legged man with a belly. The face was round and rosy, quite perfect for the part, and the two large brown eyes that bulged out at you from this rosy face gave an impression of gentle imbecility. He was dressed in a black suit with the usual parson’s
perfectly straight. ‘If it happens to be something nice, something you think I might like, will you telephone me as soon as you get to the office?’ ‘If you want me to, yes.’ ‘You know, I’m sort of hoping it’ll be something for you, Cyril. I’d much rather it was for you than for me.’ ‘That’s very generous of you, my dear. Now I must run.’ About an hour later, when the telephone rang, Mrs Bixby was across the room so fast she had the receiver off the hook before the first ring had finished. ‘I