(Ch 1) He was the very last sort of man to be murdered.
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He was the very last sort of man to become an amateur sleuth.
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Looking from the great dark bulk of the library looming in front of him to the green slope leading from the Terrace to the wide expanse of the lawn, he would often murmur to himself the words of the great Roman advocate Cicero: ‘If you have a garden and a library, you have everything you need.‘
humouress (Ch 2) ‘But he has bare feet.‘ ‘Even the Lord Chief Justice has feet, officer,‘ said Gabriel. ‘And in this instance,‘ he added with the characteristic little snuffle that indicated a witticism, ‘they were feet of clay.‘ ‘Clay?‘ said the struggling policeman. 1w
humouress (Ch 9) Now off-duty, it was time for Constable Wright‘s nightly beer, but he gingerly held out his large pink hand to take the exquisite stem of the eighteenth-century sherry glass proffered to him. Sipping the pale liquid, he tried to hide a slight grimace. 1w
humouress ‘I do hope it is not too dry for you?‘ ‘No, sir, thank you,‘ said Constable Wright, whose mother had brought him up to be polite. ‘It is really quite wet.‘ 1w
humouress Gabriel looked at him rather sharply; Constable Wright looked back. And suddenly Gabriel chuckled. He did not often chuckle, but when he did, it was immensely charming. Without knowing why, Wright beamed, and they sat for a few seconds in a silence that was of a different, almost companionable, nature. 1w
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