The Westminster House was exactly what it proclaimed. A narrow, venerated eighteenth century city dwelling of brownstone, six stories high and lovingly renovated. The tasteful plaque to the right of the entrance of thick glass double doors clarified its identity.
Robert Ludlum
The Matarese Countdown
Bantam, 1998
“So far so good,” he said as he put the car into first gear and drove off.
“Just get me home,” said Janice, slumped against her door.
Todd drove through Uptown, a busy shopping district now deserted, and all the way south to 36th Street, where he turned left at the cemetery. Michael was buried there, buried in the Gracewood plot Todd had bought, his body now sealed in the ground by the frozen earth.
Tribe: A Todd Mills Mystery
R.D. Zimmerman
Dell, 1996
Before she came, we’d had it pretty easy and we ran things as we felt. Beth was the squad captain and she did as she pleased. When Coach came on, she said there’d be no captains, she was the only captain and she was whipping us into shape. No more hours spent talking about the Master Cleanse and who had an abortion during spring break. She said we’d best get our act together and part of us liked it. If we looked sloppy we knew we’d be doing bleacher sprints, hammering up and down those steps to the pulse of her endless whistle.
Cheer
Megan Abbott
www.storyglossia.com, 2008
