Passage Identification - English 142 Midterm
And that was how a great scandal threatened to affect the kingdom of Bohemia, and how the best plans of Mr. Sherlock Holmes were beaten by a woman's wit. He used to make merry over the cleverness of women, but I have not heard him do it of late. And when he speaks of Irene Adler, or when he refers to her photograph, it is always under the honourable title of the woman.
A Scandal in Bohemia, Sir Arthur Conan Doyle
"Me. I know everything. Remember that." (Pg. 258)
Agatha Christie, "The Murder of Roger Ackroyd"
"My friend Hastings, he of whom I told you, used to say of me that I was the human oyster. But he was unjust. Of fact, I keep nothing to myself, But to everyone his own interpretation of them."' (Pg. 238)
Agatha Christie, "The Murder of Roger Ackroyd"
"Not so did Hastings write," continued my friend. "On every page, many, many times was the word 'I'. What he thought - what he did. But you - you have kept your personality in the background; only once or twice does it obtrude - in scenes of home life, shall we say?"' (Pg. 255)
Agatha Christie, "The Murder of Roger Ackroyd"
'"Everyone concerned in them has something to hide." "Have I?" I asked, smiling. Poirot looked at me attentively. "I think you have," he said quietly.' (Pg. 85)
Agatha Christie, "The Murder of Roger Ackroyd"
'"No," said Poirot placidly. "I am not mad. It was the little discrepancy in time that first drew my attention to you - right at the beginning." "Discrepancy in time?" I queried, puzzled. "But yes. You will remember that everyone agreed - you yourself included - that it took five minutes to walk from the lodge to the house - less if you took the shortcut to the terrace..." (Pg. 279)
Agatha Christie, "The Murder of Roger Ackroyd"
'"You are so self-contained, James," s he said. "You hate speaking out, or parting with any information yourself, and you think everybody else must be just like you.' (Pg. 236)
Agatha Christie, "The Murder of Roger Ackroyd"
"I was willing to rule out gas," Dr. Greenberg said. A folder containing data on the case lay on the desk before him. He lifted the cover thoughtfully, then let it drop. "And I agreed that the oatmeal sounded pretty suspicious. That was as far as I was willing to to go. Common, ordinary, everyday food poisoning - I gathered that was what Pellitteri had in mind - wasn't a very satisfying answer. For one thing, cyanosis is hardly symptomatic of that. On the other hand, diarreah and severe vomiting are, almost invariably. But they weren't in the clinical picture, I found, except in two or three of the cases..." (Pg. 6-7)
Berton Roueché, "Eleven Blue Men"
"'How in blazes do you know all these horror?' cried Flambeau. The shadow of a smile crossed the round, simple face of his clerical opponent. 'Oh, by being a celibate simpleton, I suppose,' he said. '"Has it never struck you that a man who does next to nothing but hear men's real sins is not likely to be wholly unaware of human evil? But as a matter of fact, another part of my trade, too, made me sure you weren't a priest." "What?" asked the thief, almost gaping. "You attacked reason," its bad theology"
G. K. Chesterton, "The Blue Cross"
"But exactly because Valentin understood reason, he understood the limits of reason. Only a man who knows nothing of motors talks of motoring without petrol; only a man who knows nothing of reason talks of reasoning without strong, undisputed first principles. Here he had no strong first principles. Flambeau had been missed at Harwich; and if he was in London at all, he might be anything from a tall tramp on Wimbledon Common to a tall toast-master at the Hôtel Métropole..." (Pg. 7-8)
G. K. Chesterton, "The Blue Cross"
'"No, " said the other priest; "reason is always reasonable, even in the last limbo, in the lost borderland of things. I know that people charge the Church with lowering reason, but it is just the other way. Alone on earth, Church makes reason really supreme. Alone on earth, the Church affirms that God himself is bound by reason." The other priest raised his austere face to the spangled sky and said: "Yet who knows if in that infinite universe - ?" "Only infinite physically," said the little priest, turning sharply in his seat, "not infinite in the sense of escaping from the laws of truth."' (Pg. 24-25)
G. K. Chesterton, "The Blue Cross"
"Their clues are drawn from different levels of reality; the medium is indeed the message. The diviner uses symbols ("objects pregnant with meaning") - the detective, empirical signs. Both articulate patterns of thought conditioned by particular types of social interaction. Techniques of divination are extraordinarily varied. Some seem very simple, others highly complex; they may be ranked in hierarchy (like courts of appeal), or be alternatives and equal, but even the superficially most simple and "mechanical" are infused with the emotive and expressive quality of ritual. The diviner's selection of pieces (stones, rootes, bones) is not arbitrary, and their positioning in a "throw" is not considered random or attributed to chance." (Pg. 139)
Hilda Kuper, "The Diviner and the Detective
maps of the crime scene layout
The Murder of Roger Ackroyd, Agatha Christie
"I was permitted to be at the expense of renting, and furnishing in a style which suited the rather fantastic gloom of our common temper, a time-eaten and grotesque mansion, long deserted through superstitions into which we did not inquire, and tottering to its fall in a retired and desolate portion of the Faubourg St. Germain"
The Murders in the Rue Morgue, Edgar Allan Poe
"Pierre Moreau, tobacconist, deposes that he has been in the habit of selling small quantities of tobacco and snuff to Madame L'Espanaye for nearly four years. Was born in the neighborhood, and has always resided there. The deceased and her daughter had occupied the house in which the corpses were found, for more than six years. It was formerly occupied by a jeweller, who under-let the upper rooms to various persons. The house was the property of Madame L. She became dissatisfied with the abuse of the premises by her tenant, and moved into them herself, refusing to let any portion. The old lady was childish. Witness had seen the daughter some five or six times during the six years. The two lived an exceedingly retired life —were reputed to have money. Had heard it said among the neighbors that Madame L. told fortunes —did not believe it. Had never seen any person enter the door except the old lady and her daughter, a porter once or twice, and a physician some eight or ten times.
The Murders in the Rue Morgue, Edgar Allan Poe
"To me, this article appears conclusive of little beyond the seal of its inditer. We should bear in mind that, in general, it is the object of our newspapers rather to create a sensation—to make a point—ran to further the cause of truth. The latter end is only pursued when it seems coincident with the former. The print which merely falls in with ordinary opinion (however well founded this opinion may be) earns for itself no credit with the mob. The mass of the people regard as profound only him who suggests pungent contradictions of the general idea. In ratiocination, not less than in literature, it is the epigram which is the most immediately and the most universally appreciated. In both, it is of the lowest order of merit. What I mean to say is, that it is the mingled epigram and melodrama of the idea..."
The Murders in the Rue Morgue, Edgar Allan Poe
Deprived of ordinary resources, the analyst throws himself into the spirit of his opponent, identifies himself therewith, and not unfrequently seesthus, at a glance, the sole methods (sometimes indeed absurdly simple ones) by which he may seduce into error or hurry into miscalculation.
The Murders in the Rue Morgue, Edgar Allan Poe
He notes every variation of face as the play progresses, gathering a fund of thought from the differences in the expression of certainty, of surprise, of triumph, or chagrin. From the manner of gathering up a trick he judges whether the person taking it can make another in the suit. He recognizes what is played through feint, by the air with which it is thrown upon the table. A casual or inadvertent word; the accidental dropping or turning of a card, with the accompanying anxiety or carelessness in regard to its concealment; the counting of the tricks, with the order of their arrangement; embarrassment, hesitation, eagerness or trepidation —all afford, to his apparently intuitive perception, indications of the true state of affairs. The first two or three rounds having been played, he is in full possession of the contents of each hand, and thenceforward puts down his cards with as absolute a precision of purpose as if the rest of the party had turned outward the faces of their own.
The Murders in the Rue Morgue, Edgar Allan Poe
"But whatever force there may still appear to be in the suggestion of Le Commerciel, will be much diminished when we take into consideration the hour at which the girl went abroad. 'It was when the streets were full of people,' says Le Commerciel, 'that she went out.' But not so. It was at nine o'clock in the morning. Now at nine o'clock of every morning in the week, with the exception of Sunday, the streets of the city are, it is true, thronged with people. At nine on Sunday, the populace are chiefly within doors preparing for church. No observing person can have failed to notice the peculiarly deserted air of the town, from about eight until ten on the morning of every Sabbath. Between ten and eleven the streets are thronged, but not at so early a period as that designated."
The Mystery of Marie Roget, Edgar Allan Poe
"The chances are ten to one, that he who had once eloped with Marie would again propose an elopement, rather than that she to whom proposals of an elopement had been made by one individual, should have them made to her by another."
The Mystery of Marie Roget, Edgar Allan Poe
"The phantasy, then, which the detective story addict indulges is the fantasy of being restored to the Garden of Eden, to a state of innocence, where he may know love as love and not as the law. The driving force behind this daydream is the feeling of guilt, the cause of which is unknown to the dreamer. The phantasy of escape is the same, whether one explains the guilt in Christian, Freudian, or any other terms. One's way of trying to face reality, on the other hand, will, of course, depend very much on one's creed." (Pg. 412)
W. H. Auden, "The Guilty Vicarage"
I had seen little of Holmes lately. My marriage had drifted us away from each other. My own complete happiness, and the home-centred interests which rise up around the man who first finds himself master of his own establishment, were sufficient to absorb all my attention, while Holmes, who loathed every form of society with his whole Bohemian soul, remained in our lodgings in Baker Street, buried among his old books, and alternating from week to week between cocaine and ambition, the drowsiness of the drug, and the fierce energy of his own keen nature.
A Scandal in Boehemia, Sir Arthur Conan Doyle
"To Sherlock Holmes she is always the woman," referring to "the late Irene Adler of dubious and questionable memory."
A Scandal in Boehemia, Sir Arthur Conan Doyle
"I made no answer. She walked to the other end and motioned to me to accompany her. There stood a polished oak square table, on which lay an array of extraordinary looking articles and implements - stoppered bottles full of strange medicaments, mirrors, plane and concave, brushes, sprays, sponges, delicate needle-pointed instruments of bright steel, tiny lancets, and forceps. Facing this table was a chair, like those used by dentists. Above the chair hung electric lights in powerful reflectors, and lenses like bull's-eye lanterns. Another chair, supported on a glass pedestal, was kept there, Madame Sara informed me, for administering static electricity. There were dry-cell batteries for the continuous currents and induction coils for Faradic currents. There were also platinum needles for burning out the roots of hairs. Madame took me from this room into another, where a still more formidable array of instruments was to be found. Here were a wooden operating table and chloroform and ether apparatus. When I had looked at everything, she turned to me. "Now you know," she said. "I am a doctor - perhaps a quack. These are my secrets. By means of these I live and flourish."" (Pg. 59)
L. T. Meade and Robert Eustace, "Madame Sara"
"The corpse, being supposed at the bottom of the river, will remain until, by some means, its specific gravity again becomes less than that of the bulk of water which is displaces. This effect is brought about by decomposition, or otherwise. The result of decomposition in the generation of gas, distending the cellular tissues and all the cavities, and giving the puffed appearance which is so horrible. When this distension has so far progressed that the bulk of the corpse is materially increased without a corresponding increase of mass or weight, its specific gravity becomes less than that of the water displaced, and it forthwith makes its appearance at the surface."
Mystery of Marie Roget, Edgar Allan Poe
many a schoolboy is a better reasoner than he. I knew one about eight years of age, whose success at guessing in the game of 'even and odd' attracted universal admiration. This game is simple, and is played with marbles. One player holds in his hand a number of these toys, and demands of another whether that number is even or odd. If the guess is right, the guesser wins one; if wrong, he loses one. The boy to whom I allude won all the marbles of the school. Of course he had some principle of guessing; and this lay in mere observation and admeasurement of the astuteness of his opponents. For example, an arrant simpleton is his opponent, and, holding up his closed hand, asks, 'are they even or odd?' Our schoolboy replies, 'odd,' and loses; but upon the second trial he wins, for he then says to himself, the simpleton had them even upon the first trial, and his amount of cunning is just sufficient to make him have them odd upon the second; I will therefore guess odd'; --he guesses odd, and wins. Now, with a simpleton a degree above the first, he would have reasoned thus: 'This fellow finds that in the first instance I guessed odd, and, in the second, he will propose to himself upon the first impulse, a simple variation from even to odd, as did the first simpleton; but then a second thought will suggest that this is too simple a variation, and finally he will decide upon putting it even as before. I will therefore guess even' guesses even, and wins. Now this mode of reasoning in the schoolboy, whom his fellows termed "lucky," --what, in its last analysis, is it?"
The Purloined Letter, Edgar Allan Poe
vThey have no variation of principle in their investigations; at best, when urged by some unusual emergency --by some extraordinary reward --they extend or exaggerate their old modes of practice, without touching their principles. What, for example, in this case of D--, has been done to vary the principle of action? What is all this boring, and probing, and sounding, and scrutinizing with the microscope, and dividing the surface of the building into registered square inches --what is it all but an exaggeration of the application of the one principle or set of principles of search, which are based upon the one set of notions regarding human ingenuity, to which the Prefect, in the long routine of his duty, has been accustomed?
The Purloined Letter, Edgar Allan Poe
"I did not gain very much, however, by my inspection. Our visitor bore every mark of being an average commonplace British tradesman, obese, pompous, anmd slow. He wore rather baggy gre shepherds' check trousers, a not over-clean black frock-coat, unbuttoned in the front, and a drab waistcoat with a heavy brassy Albert chain, and a square pierced bit of metal dangling down as an ornament. A frayed top-hat, and a faded brown overcoat with a wrinkled velvet collar lay upon a chair beside him. Altogether, look as I would, there was nothing remarkable about the man save his blazing red head, and the expression of extreme chagrin and discontent upon his features. "Sherlock Holmes's quick eye took in my occupation and he shook his head with a smile as he noticed my questioning glances. 'Beyond the obvious facts that he has at some time down manual labour, that he takes snuff, that he is a freemason, that he has been in China, and that he has done a considerable amount of writing lately, I can deduce nothing else.' "Mr. Jabez Wilson started up in his chair, with his forefinger upon the paper, but his eyes upon my companion. "'How, in the name of good forture, did you know all that Mr. Holmes?' he asked. 'How did you know, for example, that I did manual labour? It's as true as gospel, and I began as a ship's carpenter.' "'Your hands, my dear sir. Your right hand is quite a size larger than your left. You have worked with it, and the muscles are more developed.' "'Well, the snuff, then, and the Freemasonry?' "'I won't insult your intelligence by telling you how I read that, especially as, rather against the strict rules of your order, you use an arc and compass breastpin.' "'Ah, of course, I forgot that. But the writing?' "'What else can be indicated by that right cuff so very shiny for five inches, and the left one with the smooth patch near the elbow where you rest it upon the desk.' "'Well, but China?' "The fish which you have tattooded immediately above your right wrist could only have been done in China. I have made a small study of tattoo marks, and have even contributed to the literature of the subject. That trick of staining the fishes' scales of a delicate pink is quite peculiar to China. When, in addition, I see a Chinese coin hanging from your watch-chain, the matter becomes even more simpled.' "Mr. Jabez Wilson laughed heavily. 'Well, I never!' said her. 'I thought at first you have done something clever, but I see that there was nothing in it after all.' "'I begin to think, Watson,' said Holmes, 'that I make a mistake in explaining.'"
The Red-Headed League, Sir Arthur Conan Doyle
"'There is not mystery, my dear madam,' said he, smiling. 'The left arm of your jacket is spattered with mud in no less than seven places. The marks are perfectly fresh. There is no vehicle save a dog-cart which throws up mud in that way, and then only when you sit on the left-hand side of the driver.'"
The Speckled Band, Sir Arthur Conan Doyle
