His laugh and his voice were both pleasant. He talked the way New Yorkers used to talk before they learned to talk Flatbush.

To say goodbye is to die a little.

It’s like this with us baby. We’re coppers and everybody hates our guts….nothing we do is right, not ever. If we get a confession we beat out of a guy, they say, and some shyster...

The realistic style is easy to abuse: from haste, from lack of awareness, from inability to bridge the chasm that lies between what a writer would like to be able to say and what he...

I sat down on the edge of a deep soft chair and looked at Mrs Regan. She was worth a stare. She was trouble.