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"Bond watched her as she reached the edge of the tables and came up the aisle. It was hopeless. She was coming to meet someone—her lover. She was the sort of woman who always belongs to somebody else.
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Resolved, effortless, cool and unpretentious.
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On Open Library, 12 have read it and 26 want to.
“The eyes behind the wide black rubber goggles were cold as flint. In the howling speed-turmoil of a B.S.A. M.20 doing seventy, they were the only quiet things in the hurtling flesh and metal. Protected by the glass of the goggles, they stared fixedly ahead from just above the centre of the handle-bars, and their dark unwavering focus was that of gun-muzzles. Below the goggles, the wind had got into the face through the mouth and had wrenched the lips back into a square grin that showed big tombstone teeth and strips of whitish gum. On both sides of the grin the cheeks had been blown out by the wind into pouches that fluttered slightly. To right and left of the hurtling face under the crash-helmet, the black gauntlets, broken-wristed at the controls, looked like the attacking paws of a big animal.”
A British author and journalist. **Ian Fleming**, creator of the world's best-known secret agent, was consultant on foreign affairs to the *London Sunday Times*. In all, he wrote thirteen *James Bond* novels. The twelfth, *You Only Live Twice*, is published in hardcover by New American Library; the thirteenth, *The Man with the Golden Gun*, was published in the spring of 1965. Mr. Fleming died August 12, 1964, at the age of fifty-six.
Closest on the same fourteen dimensions, from everything scored on Taste Buds. Other media included when they land close.