Closed Casket (New Hercule Poirot Mysteries, #2)

by Sophie Hannah

The difference between knowing a thing and having it confirmed was vast.

Conceal and reveal: how appropriate that those two words should rhyme. They sound like opposites and yet, as all good storytellers know, much can be revealed by the tiniest attempts at concealment, and new revelations often hide as much as they make plain.

Human beings, I have noticed, like to follow patterns, and I am no exception.

I do not deny that people have thoughts in their heads, of course, but the notion that one can deduce anything from one’s assumptions about what those thoughts might be and why they are there—I’m not convinced by that, I’m

side. ‘Why do we allow words to have such power over us?’ Kimpton asked of nobody in particular. He had started to walk slowly around the room. ‘They are lost in air the moment they leave our mouths, yet they stay with us forever if they’re arranged in a memorable order. How can three words—“stone-cold dead”—be so much more upsetting than the wordless memory of a dead child?’

thoughtfully. ‘One ought not to use words carelessly, or even spontaneously. Once they are launched, they cannot be called back.

You must bear in mind, Edward, that the vast majority of people are disinclined to confront anything that is messy or peculiar.

One could not put a story like that in a book. It would be most unsatisfactory.’

Did the author have insight after all?