"The Judgement of Strangers" by Andrew Taylor

London: HarperCollinsPublishers, 1998

p.29: 'I'll phone you as soon as I hear something, shall I?' [NP] 'Yes, please.' She turned to go. She had taken only a couple of steps towards the road when she stopped and turned back to me. 'David?' [NP] 'Yes?' [NP] 'Thank you for all you're doing.'[NP] (* MY CONSCIENCE TWISTED UNCOMFORTABLY.*) Audrey smiled and walked away. I went back to my study and stared at the papers on my desk. (* Concentration demanded too much effort.*) I had slept badly, (* WITH DREAMS THAT HOVERED NEAR THE FRONTIER OF NIGHTMARE BUT DID NOT ACTUALLY CROSS IT.*) One of them had been set in a version of Rosington, where Rosemary and I had lived before we came to Roth - when my wife Janet was still alive. I had not dreamed of Rosington for years. Vanessa had unsettled me, (* BREACHED THE DEFENCES I HAD BUILT UP SO LABORIOUSLY. (AND I HAD BEEN ALL TOO WILLING TO HAVE THEM BREACHED.) *)

p.30: I returned to the accounts I had abandoned the previous evening. But I had not got very far when there was another ring at the doorbell. I swore under my breath as I went into the hall. I opened the door. There was Vanessa herself. [NP] I stared at her, (* FIGHTING A RISING TIDE OF DISBELIEF.*) She was wearing her dark suit and she had the envelope containing Audrey's typescript clamped to her chest.

p.35: There was a silence. Lord Peter rubbed his furry body against the glass and I wanted to throw the ashtray at him. (* I FELT A RUSH OF ANGER TOWARDS RONALD, JOINING THE OTHER EMOTIONS WHICH WERE SWIRLING ROUND THE SITTING ROOM. IF I STAYED HERE, THEY WOULD SUCK ME DOWN.*) [NP] I moved to the door. 'I'll make the coffee. I won't be a moment.'

p.35: I went into the kitchen and opened the back door. While I was waiting for the kettle to boil I stared at my shrunken garden. [NP] (* IT WAS THEN THAT THE IDEA SLITHERED LIKE A SNAKE INTO MY MIND, SHOWING ITSELF OPENLY FOR THE FIRST TIME:*) if anyone was going to marry Vanessa Forde, why shouldn't it be me?

p.146: I wanted to believe that truth was beauty, and beauty truth. But what if Keats was wrong and beauty did not have a moral dimension? What if beauty told lies? Rosemary had told lies in the past. But she had been too young to know better. Children only gradually become moral beings. (* I PUSHED ASIDE THE MEMORY.*)

p.183: Why had none of us mentioned the subject of Lady Youlgreave? [NP] (* I PUSHED ASIDE THE QUESTIONS *) and made notes.