“This wasn't a garden,' said Susan presently. 'It was a castle...”

“LADY CROOM: You have been reading too many novels by Mrs Radcliffe, that is my opinion. This is a garden for The Castle of Otranto or The Mysteries of Udolpho --CHATER: The Castle of Otranto, my lady, is by Horace Walpole.NOAKES: (Thrilled) Mr Walpole the gardener?!LADY CROOM: Mr Chater, you are a welcome guest at Sidley Park but while you are one, The Castle of Otranto was written by whomsoever I say it was, otherwise what is the point of being a guest or having one?”

“Let us go on and see little Susan, said Margaret, drawing her companion up a grassy road-way, leading under the shadow of a forest glade. "With all my heart, though I have not an idea who little Susan may be. But I have a kindness for all Susans, for simple Susan's sake.”

“She couldn't demand that Mrs. Proust get off the bed; it wasn't her bed. It wasn't her castle. She smiled. In fact it really wasn't her problem. How nice to find a problem that wasn't yours.”

“Out of your world perhaps, Susan — but not out of mine,' said Anne with a faint smile.”

“my father said, "when in dount, castle”