The Dead in Their Vaulted Arches (Flavia de Luce, #6)

by Alan Bradley

I was grasping at every chance to avoid change in the same way a drowning man tries to grab at his own rope of bubbles.

Foolishness in a grown man, no matter how lighthearted, is disgusting.

There was only me, and nothing more. Nothing else existed.

“What are we going to do, Dogger?” It seemed a reasonable question. After all he had been through, surely Dogger knew something of hopeless situations. “We shall wait upon tomorrow,” he said. “But—what if tomorrow is worse than today?” “Then we shall wait upon the day after tomorrow.” “And so forth?” I asked. “And so forth,” Dogger said.