Tea Time for the Traditionally BuiltBy: Alexander Mccall Smith , J. B. Mackinnon
eBook Publisher: Random House
Imprint: Knopf Doubleday Publishing Group
Series: The No. 1 Ladies' Detective Agency #10
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Format: ePub Encrypted (DRM)
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THE NO. 1 LADIES’ DETECTIVE AGENCY - Book 10
Fans around the world adore the bestselling No. 1 Ladies’ Detective Agency series, the basis of the HBO TV show, and its proprietor Precious Ramotswe, Botswana’s premier lady detective. In this charming series, Mma Ramotswe navigates her cases and her personal life with wisdom, and good humor—not to mention help from her loyal assistant, Grace Makutsi, and the occasional cup of tea.
In this latest installment in the endlessly entertaining series, Precious Ramotswe faces problems both personal and professional.
The first is the potential demise of an old friend, her tiny white van. Recently, it has developed a rather troubling knock, but she dare not consult the estimable Mr. J.L.B. Matekoni for fear he may condemn the vehicle. Meanwhile, her talented assistant Mma Makutsi is plagued by the reappearance of her nemesis, Violet Sephotho, who has taken a job at the Double Comfort Furniture store whose proprietor is none other than Phuti Radiphuti, Mma Makutsi’s fiancÉ. Finally, the No. 1 Ladies’ Detective Agency has been hired to explain the unexpected losing streak of a local football club, the Kalahari Swoopers. But with Mma Ramotswe on the case, it seems certain that everything will be resolved satisfactorily.
From the Trade Paperback edition.
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|Title of eBook: Tea Time for the Traditionally Built||Series: The No. 1 Ladies' Detective Agency, , #10|
|Release Date: 04-21-2009|
|Allowed Countries (hover)|
|Publisher: Knopf Doubleday Publishing Group|
This eBook download is available in the following formats:
|Parent title||Tea Time for the...|
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Tea Time for the Traditionally Built
Traditionally built people may not look as if they are great walkers, but there was a time when Precious Ramotswe walked four miles a day. As a girl in Mochudi, all those years ago, a pupil at the school that looked down over the sprawling village below, she went to her lessons every morning on foot, joining the trickle of children that made its way up the hill, the girls in blue tunics, the boys in khaki shirts and shorts, like little soldiers. The journey from the house where she lived with her father and the older cousin who looked after her took all of an hour, except, of course, when she was lucky and managed to ride on the mule-drawn water cart that occasionally passed that way. The driver of this cart, with whom her father had worked in the gold mines as a young man, knew who she was and always slowed down to allow her to clamber up on the driver’s seat beside him.
Other children would watch enviously and try to wave down the water cart. “I cannot carry all Botswana,” said the driver. “If I gave all you children a ride on my cart, then my poor mules would die. Their hearts would burst. I cannot allow that.”
“But you have Precious up there!” called out the boys. “Why is she so special?”
The driver looked at Precious and winked. “Tell them why you are special, Precious. Explain it to them.”
The young Mma Ramotswe, barely eight, was overwhelmed by embarrassment.
“But I am not special. I am just a girl.”
“You are the daughter of Obed Ramotswe,” said the driver. “He is a great man. That is why you are riding up here.”
He was r...