By Dean Koontz
Released lower than pseudonym Deanna Dwyer.
Katherine dealers got here to Owisden within the wintry weather, to be the secretary-companion to Lydia Boland, one of many wealthiest girls within the nation. The activity was once an exhilarating problem for Katherine, and a wanted swap from the occasions she'd quicker disregard. And her new enterprise used to be a captivating and gracious woman. If in basic terms the entire humans of Owisden and the little mountain village that huddled opposed to the property for cover have been so great, Katherine's happiness will be guaranteed. although, underneath the appeal stirred different feelings, different forces. there has been evil in that mountain valley, a brooding evil that worshipped at a gloomy altar... an altar that have been outfitted for unspeakable sacrifice! And Katherine was once marked from the instant she arrived - marked to die!
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Extra resources for Dance with the Devil
I'd imagine the covers are turned down, Lydia said. �One thing, Katherine said. �I'd like to know what time I'm expected to be up and around in the morning and if- Lydia said, No trouble there. She chuckled, a sixty-four-year-old woman who looked fifty and acted thirty-five.
And without me, you'd merely have spent a week in town before coming up here. The man standing in the doorway came out to them. He was Katherine's height, five feet four, very broad across the shoulders, a beefy man packed with muscles like a weightlifter. His face was swarthy, his eyes dark and deep set. His mouth was wide, his lips thick and his voice European yet accentless when he spoke. My name is Yuri, Miss Sellers. �Thanks to Mr. Harrison, very little, she said. Yuri turned to the younger man now and smiled.
But, in the end, she did not get very close at all. Though driving up the icy slope was a good deal less trying than the uncontrolled descent had been, it was not nearly so easy on the Ford which fought the ascent at every turn. The tires spun in the dry snow and, at times, she found she was losing two feet of ground for every one that she surged forward. Again and again, she would gain a hundred yards on the slope, only to lose it in bits and pieces as the car slid inexorably backwards toward the village.