The Body in the Library (Miss Marple, #3)

by Agatha Christie

“Do you mean to tell me,” demanded Colonel Bantry, “that there’s a dead body in my library—my library?”

What I feel is that if one has got to have a murder actually happening in one’s house, one might as well enjoy it, if you know what I mean.

Colonel Melchett jerked his mind away from the fascinating and age-long problem of woman’s adornments.

The most unlikely people, he knew, wrote detective stories.

“Gentlemen,” she said with her old-maid’s way of referring to the opposite sex as though it were a species of wild animal, “are frequently not as levelheaded as they seem.”