Troubled Blood (Cormoran Strike, #5)

by Robert Galbraith

“Churches are good cover for killers,” said Strike. “Sex offenders, too.”

Looking as though she’d said something very clever she reached forwards to take another biscuit, and a deafening fart ripped through the room.

“One t’ing life’s taught me: where there’s no capacity for joy, there’s no capacity for goodness,”

Then he closed his eyes, and like millions of his fellow humans, wondered why troubles could never come singly, but in avalanches, so that you became increasingly destabilized with every blow that hit you.

‘We aren’t our mistakes. It’s what we do about the mistake that shows who we are.’