And Then There Were None

by Agatha Christie

There was something magical about an island—the mere word suggested fantasy. You lost touch with the world—an island was a world of its own. A world, perhaps, from which you might never return.

Whoever it was who enticed us here, that person knows or has taken the trouble to find out a good deal about us all.

“My dear lady, in my experience of ill-doing, Providence leaves the work of conviction and chastisement to us mortals—and the process is often fraught with difficulties. There are no short cuts.”