Femme Fatale (Irene Adler #7) by Carole Douglas

Prelude: The Dead Departed I almost think we’re all of us Ghosts. . . . It’s not only what we have inherited from our father and mother that “walks” in us. —MRS. ALVING, GHOSTS, ACT II, 1881, HENRIK IBSEN FROM NELLIE BLY’S JOURNAL This room is darker than a tomb . . . . . . although I must admit that I have only been in a tomb once and hope I won’t be in another one until I’m beyond noticing it. I haven’t, however, attended a séance before. Anyway, the darkness makes it blasted inconvenient for taking notes, but I guess that when one is awaiting an appearance by the dead departed a little irritation is small price to pay. I, of course, no more expect to see or hear the dead tonight than I’d expect P. T. Barnum to resurrect and turn tent preacher and start performing baptisms in the East River. But that’s my job: to put myself into situations I don’t much like and then tell everyone about it. That’s why I’m more widely known by a name I wasn’t born with: Nellie Bly. Now I have brought the name of Nellie Bly from the Pittsburg Dispatch and wo
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