Peter Høeg
Miss Smillia’s Feeling for Snow
It is freezing, an extraordinary -18o C, and it’s snowing, and in the language which is no longer mine, the snow is qanik - big, almost weightless crystals falling in stacks and covering the ground with a layer of pulverised white frost . . .
A small boy falls to his death from a city rooftop. Accident, say the police. Murder, says his resourceful friend Smilla, who, half-Greenlander, can read the marks left in the snow.
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