One would go mad.that is what nearly happened to Gwen. What if one has witnessed a murder as a toddler? What if one's childhood psyche had repressed that incident, until it came back to haunt one as a distorted vision in one's beautiful new home which one suddenly realises is none other than the venue of that Sleeping Murder? I will not dwell on the Freudian aspects of this incident: just point out the fact that childhood traumas, however trivial, have lasting impacts. It was only a poster of Naraka (the Indian hell) which I saw as a child, in that house, which left a lasting impression on me. The mystery of this dream was solved later. Also, the place is full of the images of the tortured victims of these deities, their silent screams, mutilated bodies and blood. Their pictures are hung all over the walls, and their ugly idols leer up at me. Inside, it is a prayer room dedicated to evil gods. I open it and enter, even though my better sense counsels against it. I am walking around the compound of my maternal grandfather's ancestral home, when I reach a dilapidated building in a secluded corner. Her blue eyes often had a little twinkle in them.As a child, I was troubled intermittently by a nightmare. Miss Marple was an attractive old lady, tall and thin, with pink cheeks and blue eyes, and a gentle, rather fussy manner. Sleeping Murder is a satisfying puzzle and I liked this last view of Miss Marple, compassionate and shrewd and this description of her appearance: That moment, as it turned out was very significant, indeed. But you had no feeling of violence or revulsion except, so you have told me, at one very definite moment, and that was when you were just starting to come down the staircase and looking down into the hall. Had the house been merely what it is called (perhaps rightly) a haunted house, you would have reacted differently, I think. It was the right size and a reasonable price, so you bought it.

You wanted a house on the south coast, you were looking for one, and you passed a house that stirred memories and attracted you. It’s just a very remarkable coincidence – and remarkable coincidences do happen. It does all rather depend on a number of coincidences, beginning with the fact that Gwenda has bought the house that she had lived in as a very young child, but as Miss Marple explains to Gwenda:

It’s a most baffling ‘˜cold case’, because first of all they have to discover who, if anyone, had been killed, where, when and why. She is convinced that she is going mad, but she is helped by Miss Marple, whose nephew, Raymond West is a distant cousin of Gwenda’s husband, Giles. She did not stop, even then, but half walked, half ran, in a blind panic up the Haymarket () She sprang up from her seat, pushed blindly past the others out into the aisle, through the exit and up the stairs and so to the street.

Marple sleeping murders