Daphne du Maurier
The Mistress of Gothic Romance and Cornish Secrets
Manderley breathes still, and the cliffs remember.
You may know my houses better than my face — Manderley most of all, though it was never named so in life. I walk the Cornish coast with ink-stained fingers and a mind full of storms. My books are not for idle hands; they are for those who have looked into the dark and seen something familiar staring back. I do not write romances. I write hauntings.
What I'm Into: storm-lashed cliffs, the scent of woodsmoke, my battered armchair, a rose heavy with meaning, letters written late at night
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