“Not a spoon clinked against a mug, not a creamer was popped, peeled and opened, not a breath. It was as though something else had joined them then. As though silence had taken a seat.”

“When Olivier had been taken away Gamache had sat back down and stared at the sack. what could be worse than Chaos, Despair, War?What would even the Mountain flee from? Gamache had given it a lot of thought.What haunted people even, perhaps especially, on their deathbed? What chased them, tortured them and brought some of them to their knees? And Gamache thought he had the answer.Regret. Regret for things said, for things done, and not done. Regret for the people they might have been. And failed to be.Finally, when he was alone, the Chief Inspector had opened the sack and looking inside had realize he'd been wrong. The worst thing of all wasn't regret.”

“In winter the very ground seemed to reach up and grab the elderly, yanking them to earth as though hungry for them.”

“They stared ahead. Silent. Morin had never realized murderers were caught in silence. But they were.”

“She'd wanted to run an inn. To welcome people, to mother them. They had no children of their own, and she had a powerful need to nurture.”

“People wandered in for books and conversation. They brought their stories to her, some bound, and some known by heart. She recognized some of the stories as real, and some as fiction. But she honored them all, though she didn't buy every one.”

“But you want murderous feelings? Hang around librarians," confided Gamache. "All that silence. Gives them ideas.”