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(...) Podia ter sido a mesma rapariga, flutuando para cima num roçagar de seda Schiaparelli com um capuz de cabelo lustroso, e flutuando para baixo numa saia curta com uma blusa azul às pintas brancas, o cabelo agora armado. As vozes normais da casa recomeçavam a vibrar.

Uma vez aqui, onde se sentiram considerados criminosos, ficaram encantados por recolherem-se aos seus quartos — um com duas camas para Bobby e Badger e outro, minúsculo e com uma só cama, para Frankie.
Alguns minutos depois de todos se terem retirado, soou uma pancada à porta de Bobby.

(...) O quarto continha um lavatório, uma cama, uma cómoda, um armário, uma mesa e um candeeiro, uma cadeira de vime, uma cadeira de madeira, uma estante, um aquecedor e um contador com uma ranhura para medir o gás, xelim a xelim. Jane achou que bem podia estar no quarto de um sanatório.

Ninguém no Clube May of Teck conhecia a sua história em concreto, mas pressentia-se, unanimemente, que seria algo emocionalmente heroico. Comparavam-na a Ingrid Bergman e não tomava partido nas discussões entre as residentes e a gerência sobre a comida: se tinha ou não demasiadas propriedades que faziam engordar, mesmo tendo em conta as necessidades do racionamento em tempo de guerra.

Teve a impressão de que Mr. Spragge estava, por qualquer razão, a portar-se muito diferentemente da sua maneira de ser habitual, bondosa e omnisciente. Parecia deveras preocupado.

(...)

Quanto a isso, Frankie podia ter-lhe dito que já estava enterrada até ao pescoço num caso que mereceria a sua desaprovação categórica. Mas limitou-se a fitá-lo com ar inquiridor.

Página 150:

Enquanto a ouvia falar, Bobby teve um vislumbre de um ambiente estranho e perverso e experimentou um pouco da sensação de terror que envolvera a vida de Moira Nicholson durante tanto tempo.

Pág. 114:

Frankie recordou-se do «Tabolt» azul-escuro e do facto de Carstairs ser canadiano. Pareceu-lhe que o Dr. Nicholson era um homem sinistro.

(...)

Nicholson esteve sempre a conversar com Sylvia e, às dez e meia, chamou a atenção da mulher; ambos levantaram-se para partir.

Acontece, porém, que, na briga secular entre amadores de gatos e amadores de cães, sempre estive do lado dos primeiros; a vida e eu temos sido, afinal, gatos mesmo, caprichosos, volúveis e razoavelmente preguiçosos; de modo que, de Bordéus mesmo, de novo tomei barco para o Rio de Janeiro. Sem responder à carta de Joan; sem lhe ter respondido até hoje.

Mas, embora também nunca lhe tenha escrito e não seja nada sentimental, antes pelo contrário, se alguma vez as minhas saudades se levantam, como as tais gaivotas em que pensei um dia, é para Teresinha que elas vão, como para a conhecida praia em que nada as perturba. E lá se acalmam. Só que: lá, onde, Teresinha?

Página 80:

Sentia-se ainda magoado… como um cão que se viu inesperadamente privado do seu osso. Achava que aquele crime era dele e agora afastavam-no.

E, com a história da reparação, embarcámos tão tarde que, ao despertar, no avião que já pousava, era manhã, e a vida recomeçava em Belém do Pará. Em mim, também.

Ali estendido, sentia-se como um deus. Tinha o mundo aos seus pés. Podia fazer qualquer coisa ... tudo o que lhe aprouvesse! E planos de grande esplendor e de ousada iniciativa cruzaram-lhe o espírito.
Depois tornou a sentir sono. A letargia invadia-o subrepticiamente.
Adormeceu.
Um sono pesado, entorpecedor.

Miss Brodie's brown eyes were fixed on the clouds; she looked quite beautiful and frail, and it occurred to Sandy that she had possibly renounced Teddy Lloyd only because she was aware that she could not keep up this beauty; it was a quality in her that came and went.

Jenny and Sandy were going to a farm for the summer holidays, where in fact the name of Miss Brodie would not very much be on their lips or in their minds after the first two weeks, and instead they would make hay and follow the sheep about. (...)

When they had finished writing this letter they read the whole correspondence from beginning to end. They were undecided then whether to cast this incriminating document out to sea or to bury it. The art of casting things out to sea from the shore was, as they knew, more difficult than it sounded. (...)

But later, when Sandy thought of Eunice doing somersaults and splits on Miss Brodie's kitchen linoleum while the other girls washed up, she rather wished she had gone to tea at Miss Brodie's after all. (...)

It was thus that he thought of himself as he sat moping over his solitary table in the hotel coffee-room. He acknowledged to himself that he had not hitherto been a man; but at the same time he made some revolution which, I trust, may assist him in commencing his manhood from this date.

'I shall never win her, Lady Julia.' As he spoke these last words, the tears were running down his cheeks, and he was weeping openly in the presence of his companion. It was well for him that she had come upon him in his sorrow. When he once knew that she had seen his tears, he could pour out to her the whole story of his grief; (...)

Page 453: (...) Under such circumstances, would it not be well that Bell's marriage should be so arranged that the lodging question might not be in any degree complicated by her necessities? This was the last suggestion made by Dr. Crofts, induced no doubt by the great encouragement he had received.

(....) And she made way for him to a chair between her and the wall. Cradell looked half afraid of his fortunes as he took the proffered seat; but he did take it, and was soon secured from any positive physical attack by the strength and breadth of Miss Roper's crinoline.

In the evening, the first volume of the French Revolution had been procured, and Lily stuck to her reading with laudable perseverance; till at eight, her mother insisted on her going to bed, queen as she was.

He soon, however, got himself away. When he rose to go, Alexandrina also rose, and he was permitted to press his nose against her cheekbone by way of a salute.
'Good-night, Adolphus,' said the countess, putting out her hand to him. 'But stop a minute; I know there is something I want you to do for me. But you will look in as you go to your office to-morrow morning.'

After that, Mrs Dale walked home through the garden by herself. He had studiously told her that the house in which they lived should be lent, not to her, but to her children, during his lifetime. He had positively declined the offer of her warmer regard. (...)

Johnny was allowed to make his way down to the platform, and there find his own carpet-bag. One young porter, however, came up and fraternized with him.

(...)

It was then a quarter past eleven, but nevertheless, Eames appeared at his office precisely at twelve.