“There's the pity of it. Elaine Cheeseman's not as young as you; she's forty, maybe. But she's not bad-looking at all. If she took the trouble to dress properly, and occasionally she smiled instead of keeping a frozen, holy-zeal look as though she were goin' to the Crusades instead of only to the polling-station, she might even be a bit of a smasher.”

“...both Tom and I adore detective stories. Isn't that so, Tom?" [Lady Brace]"Right!" agreed her husband...."But they've got to be proper detective stories. They've got to present a tricky, highly sophisticated problem, which you're given fair opportunity to solve.""And," amplified Virginia, "no saying they're psychological studies when the author can't write for beans.""Correct!" her husband agreed again. "Couldn't care less when you're supposed to get all excited as to whether the innocent man will be hanged or the innocent heroine will be seduced. Heroine ought to be seduced; what's she there for? The thing is the mystery. It's not worth reading if the mystery is simple or easy or no mystery at all.”

“But the curator said nothing mattered so long as it looked all right to the ignorant." [Lady Brace]"Sort of government motto. I see." [Sir Henry Merrivale]”

“The Subject has really blue eyes that twinkle when he looks at someone like she's maybe a little bit insane.”

“She's proud of you. She said so herself. And she knows you deserved a chance to be happy. I know that, too" I added. "I just wish Henry could look at me the way he looks at you."Persephone wrapped her fingers around mine. "You should be glad he doesn't. When he looks at me, he hurts. But when he sees you..." She smiled faintly "He has hope. I'm not surprised you don't notice it. It took me a while to read him, too. I spent thousands of years with him though, and I know that look. I saw it the day we got married. You don't forget the first time someone looks at you like that.”

“Everything went black in the shocking folds of his embrace. She was very startled and near to sobbing.'Caw, caw,' echoed his raincoat.'Don't be frightened,' he said. 'It is only poor Finn, who will do you no harm.'She recovered herself a little, though she was still trembling. She could see her own face reflected in little in the black pupils of his subaqueous eyes. She still looked the same. She saluted herself. He was only a little taller than she and their eyes were almost level. Remotely, she wished him three inches taller. Or four. She felt the warm breath from his wild beast's mouth softly, against her cheek. She did not move. Stiff, wooden, and unresponsive, she stood in his arms and watched herself in his eyes. It was a comfort to see herself as she thought she looked.'Oh, get it over with, get it over with,' she urged furiously under her breath.He was grinning like Pan in a wood. He kissed her, closing his eyes so that she could not see herself any more. His lips were wet and rough, cracked. It might have been anybody, kissing her, and besides, she did not know him well, if at all. She wondered why he was doing this, putting his mouth on her own undesiring one, softly moving his body against her. What was the need? She felt a long way away from him, and superior, also.”

“Put it in terms of the not-too-serious, if you like. Who got into that locked room? And how was it done? And why should the cup have been moved again? We're up against the essential detective problems of who, how, and why. Simply because there was no murder or near-murder, does that make the mystery one bit less baffling?”