They Do It With Mirrors (Miss Marple, #5)

by Agatha Christie

Miss Marple was white-haired, with a soft pink-and-white wrinkled face and innocent china blue eyes. She looked a very sweet old lady. Nobody would have called Mrs. Van Rydock a sweet old lady.

Such an odd thing, friendship!

Everyone’s life has a tempo. Ruth’s was presto whereas Miss Marple’s was content to be adagio.

Of course, it was the fashion when we were young to have ideals—we all had them, it was the proper thing for young girls.

I want you, Jane, to go down there right away and find out just exactly what’s the matter.” “Me?” exclaimed Miss Marple. “Why me?” “Because you’ve got a nose for that sort of thing. You always had. You’ve always been a sweet innocent looking creature, Jane, and all the time underneath nothing has ever surprised you, you always believe the worst.”

“And you’d actually had a premonition that day in church?” “I wouldn’t call it a premonition. It was founded on fact—these things usually are, though one doesn’t always recognise it at the time.

“Maybe, Jane,” she said, “that St. Mary Mead of yours isn’t quite the idyllic retreat that I’ve always imagined it.” “Human nature, dear, is very much the same everywhere. It is more difficult to observe it closely in a city, that is all.”