But down these mean streets a man must go who is not himself mean, who is neither tarnished nor afraid. The detective in this kind of story must be s… - Raymond Chandler

down these mean streets a man must go who is not himself mean, who is neither tarnished nor afraid. He is the hero; he is everything. He must be a complete man and a common man and yet an unusual man. He must be, to use a rather weathered phrase, a man of honor — by instinct, by inevitability, without thought of it, and certainly without saying it. He must be the best man in his world and a good enough man for any world.

“He will take no man’s money dishonestly and no man’s insolence without a due and dispassionate revenge. He is a lonely man and his pride is that you will treat him as a proud man or be very sorry you ever saw him.

“The story is this man’s adventure in search of a hidden truth, and it would be no adventure if it did not happen to a man fit for adventure. If there were enough like him, the world would be a very safe place to live in, without becoming too dull to be worth living in.

Down these mean streets a man must go who is not himself mean, who is neither tarnished nor afraid. The detective must be a complete man and a common man and yet an unusual man. He must be, to use a rather weathered phrase, a man of honor.

But down these mean streets a man must go who is not himself mean, who is neither tarnished nor afraid.

down these mean streets a man must go who is not himself mean, who is neither tarnished nor afraid...

"Down these mean streets a man must go who is not himself mean, who is neither tarnished nor afraid....He must be the best man in his world, and a good enough man for any world." from Raymond Chandler's, "The Simple Act of Murder."

down these mean streets a man must go who is not himself mean, who is neither tarnished nor afraid. He is the hero

Down these mean streets a man must go who is not himself mean, who is neither tarnished nor afraid. The detective in this kind of story must be such a man. He is the hero, he is everything. He must be a complete man and a common man and yet an unusual man. He must be, to use a rather weathered phrase, a man of honor, by instinct, by inevitability, without thought of it, and certainly without saying it. He must be the best man in his world and a good enough man for any world.

It was about eleven o'clock in the morning, mid October, with the sun not shining and a look of hard wet rain in the clearness of the foothills. I was wearing my powder-blue suit, with dark blue shirt, tie and display handkerchief, black brogues, black wool socks with dark little clocks on them. I was neat, clean, shaved and sober, and I didn't care who knew it. I was everything the well-dressed private detective ought to be. I was calling on four million dollars.

I decided I could lose nothing by the soft approach. If that didn't produce for me — and I didn't think it would — nature could take its course and we could bust up the furniture.

A slice of spumoni wouldn't have melted on her now.