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Turmoil shook loose all sorts of unpleasant truths. But it took peace to examine them.
His face showed his age. It was worn with cares and concerns and worries. With pain. But the deepest crevices were made by laughter. Around his eyes and mouth. Mirth, etched deep.
The homes formed a circle, and in its center was the village green. And in the center of that were the pine trees that soared over the community. Three great spires that inspired the name. Three Pines. These were no ordinary trees. Planted centuries ago, they were a code. A signal to the war-weary.
We love life, thought Reine-Marie as she watched Ruth and Rosa sitting side by side, not because we are used to living, but because we are used to loving.
After spending most of her life scanning the horizon for slights and threats, genuine and imagined, she knew the real threat to her happiness came not from the dot in the distance, but from looking for it. Expecting it. Waiting for it. And in some cases, creating it.
Her father had jokingly accused her of living in the wreckage of her future. Until one day she’d looked deep into his eyes and saw he wasn’t joking. He was warning her.
Would someone new to Three Pines ever suspect that the man tossing the ball to the shepherd, or sipping Scotch in the bistro, had once been the most celebrated cop in Québec? In Canada? Would they guess, could they guess, that the large man doing the sun salutation each morning had once hunted murderers for a living?
Chief Inspector Gamache, the head of homicide for the Sûreté du Québec, had done his job. It was someone else’s turn.
“I don’t know. I was wrong. I’m sorry.” Lacoste recited them slowly, lifting a finger to count them off. “I need help,” the Chief said, completing the statements. The ones he’d taught young Agent Lacoste many years ago. The ones he’d recited to all his new agents.
Armand Gamache did not want to have to be brave. Not anymore. Now all he wanted was to be at peace.
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But, like Clara, he knew he could not have one without the other.
“Have you ever been jealous?”
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“It’s like drinking acid,” said Myrna, “and expecting the other person to die.”
He now knew that happiness and kindness went together. There was not one without the other.
Sometimes the only way up is down. Sometimes the only way forward is to back up.
“Any real act of creation is first an act of destruction. Picasso said it, and it’s true. We don’t build on the old, we tear it down. And start fresh.”
Mens rea. The difference between manslaughter and murder. Intent.
“What’s the difference between a commune and a cult?” asked Beauvoir.
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“Both have a sort of guiding philosophy,” said Myrna. “But a commune is open—members can come and go. A cult is closed. Rigid. Demands
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conformity and absolute loyalty to the leader and the beliefs. It shuts people off from the greater society.”
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there. Fear lives in the head. And courage lives in the heart. The job is to get from one to the other.”
Noli timere. Be not afraid.
