The Weed That Strings the Hangman's Bag (Flavia de Luce, #2)

by Alan Bradley

She was prattling. If I kept quiet, it wouldn’t be more than a minute before she would be confiding her size in knickers.

But you and I know, don’t we, Flavia, that being alone and being lonely are not at all the same thing?”

When one lives in a village, the more things are hushed up, the more one hears,

I remembered that gossip withheld draws more gossip:

Didn’t Genesis say as much? For dust thou art, and unto dust shalt thou return. This was far more than dull old theology: It was precise scientific observation! Carbon was the Great Leveler—the Grim Reaper.

It’s always best to announce one’s self heartily when trespassing. (Even though I had invented it on the spot,

To be most effective, flattery is always best applied with a trowel.

I had learned by observing Inspector Hewitt that silence is the best primer for a conversational