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They say all the world loves a lover—apply that saying to murder and you have an even more infallible truth. No one can fail to be interested in a murder.
“It is a theory of mine,” I said, warming to my theme, “that we owe most of our great inventions and most of the achievements of genius to idleness—either enforced or voluntary. The human mind prefers to be spoon-fed with the thoughts of others, but deprived of such nourishment it will, reluctantly, begin to think for itself—and such thinking, remember, is original thinking and may have valuable results.
“Shall we say,” I said, rallying, “that I have never met the right woman?” “We can say so,” said Mrs. Dane Calthrop, “but it wouldn’t be a very good answer, because so many men have obviously married the wrong woman.”
And Mr. Symmington, as far as I can make out, was never actually a good man—he wasn’t very kind or very affectionate or very sympathetic—his qualities were all negative—so he hadn’t really the strength to fight his madness.
She was actually a kindly affectionate creature.” “That’s an odd description of a murderess,” said Edmund. “I don’t know that it is,” said Miss Marple. “Weak and kindly people are often very treacherous. And if they’ve got a grudge against life it saps the little moral strength that they may possess.
People with a grudge against the world are always dangerous. They seem to think life owes them something. I’ve known many an invalid who has suffered far worse and been cut off from life much more than Charlotte Blacklock—and they’ve managed to lead happy contented lives. It’s what in yourself that makes you happy or unhappy.
Everyone’s life has a tempo. Ruth’s was presto whereas Miss Marple’s was content to be adagio.
He was thinking to himself that Miss Marple was very unlike the popular idea of an avenging fury. And yet, he thought that was perhaps exactly what she was.
“You think he is marrying her for money?” “Yes, I do. Don’t you think so?” “I should say quite certainly,” said Miss Marple. “Like young Ellis who married Marion Bates, the rich ironmonger’s daughter. She was a very plain girl and absolutely besotted about him. However, it turned out quite well. People like young Ellis and this Gerald Wright are only really disagreeable when they’ve married a poor girl for love. They are so annoyed with themselves for doing it that they take it out on the girl. But if they marry a rich girl they continue to respect her.”
“It’s time for me to go,” said Miss Marple. “I’ve finished what I came here to do. It hasn’t been—altogether pleasant. But it’s important, you know, that wickedness shouldn’t triumph.”
