The Dead House Quotes

“chosen to complement the curtains and feel quite unjustifiably proud that that a sister of mine”
― Harry Bingham, The Dead House

“Pryce’s chicken is an unhealthy-looking grey, the way my sister looked when she had glandular fever. He examines it gloomily. ‘We’ll get”
― Harry Bingham, The Dead House

“I have a kind of farewell lunch with Burnett in Carmarthen. A greasy spoon café just up behind the police station. The sort of place where the laminated menus stick slightly to the tables. Where lasagne represents the most adventurous meal choice.”
― Harry Bingham, The Dead House

“A grey pigeon flies with heavy wing beats across the yard. It sits on the low wall bounding the pig-sties and tries to remember what it came for.”
― Harry Bingham, The Dead House

“Those things gave us enough, more than enough, for a search warrant. One of those steel-ram, siren blaring, you're-so-totally-fucked raids that every copper loves more than anything, me included.”
― Harry Bingham, The Dead House

“It takes Burnett only a moment to figure out what I'm talking about, but says, 'I'm on it. What's wrong with your voice?'

'I'm eating biscuits.'

'You're eating biscuits?'

Burnett is obviously still a bit sleepy, since I couldn't have made myself much clearer. 'Yes, sir. I'm eating biscuits. Stolen chocolate digestives. Oh, also, we're going to need some ambulances.'

'Ambulances?'

'Sir, is this a new game where you repeat everything I say?”
― Harry Bingham, The Dead House

“Above the abbot's desk, two little prints. Icons, I suppose he would call them. A male figure and a female one. The male one is standing on a green hill and has a white dove perched on his shoulder.

He sees me looking.

'You'll recognize our patron, of course?'

It takes me a second, but I realise he's talking about St. David, a Welsh bishop of the sixth century and the patron saint of Wales.

'David,' I say. 'A local boy.'

'Local enough. He was preaching at the Synod of Brefi to a large crowd. Because those at the back couldn't hear him, a small hill rose up beneath him. The dove here settled on his shoulder.'

'That's his big miracle?' I ask. 'Making a hill. In Wales?”
― Harry Bingham, The Dead House

“White ceiling tiles. Low-energy bulbs in cylindrical down-lighters. Walls and chairs in Hospital Yellow. A colour so blatantly designed to soothe those in medical distress that it makes me want to bubble blood from the corners of my mouth, just to show it who’s boss. ‘I”
― Harry Bingham, The Dead House

“detritus of”
― Harry Bingham, The Dead House