Michael Prichard is up there as one of the dryest, clubfooted narrators of all time. How is it that he keeps getting gigs? I can't begin to number the number of excellent books he has ruined with his congested voice and passionless monotone delivery. Shudder-inducing. Many books, like this one, deserve much better. Michael Jayston, for example, could make the telephone book impossible to stop listening to.
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