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1 " She's dearer than life itself, that's all I know. "
― Daphne du Maurier , Castle Dor
2 " The children left him and ran. A pathway led up through the close sapling oaks, and almost at the top of the ascent they encountered Mrs. Lewarne—Linnet. She too had a basket on her arm. Now Johnny might believe in fairies and suchlike, but to Mary Mrs. Lewarne was a vision of all things desirable in grown-up life—beauty, grace, carriage, a sweet commanding voice, the true accent, clothes, and all delicate appanages of wealth—everything in short that her own little soul aspired after. And yet not too proud to carry a basket! "
3 " Until the moment of that dismissal with its reason given, he had received out of anywhere—or was it out of nowhere in the morning—that love must suffer for loving; that, the deeper planted, the more it must suffer, in that all true passion of love at its highest force inevitably ends in tragedy: that no story of love between man and woman at its highest could ever come but to a tragic end; that no ending but disillusion can be invented for the illusion which is more than half of such love; "
4 " That this exceptionally scholarly man whose judgments, always rich and sensitive, though sometimes austere, should have embarked on an intensely romantic retelling of the old Cornish legend of that famous pair of tragic lovers, Tristan and Queen Iseult, is intriguing in itself. But what makes it even more fascinating is that Daphne du Maurier, asked by “Q” ’s daughter long after her father’s death to finish this novel that he had set aside “near the end of a chapter, halfway through,” did so in such a skillful fashion that it is impossible to guess with any certainty the exact point at which she began to write. She says, in a modest foreword, that she “could not imitate ‘Q’’s style… that would have been robbing the dead,” but she had known him when she was a child, remembered him as a genial host at many a Sunday supper, and “by thinking back to conversations long forgotten” she could recapture something of the man himself and trust herself to “fall into his mood. "
5 " No.” Monsieur Ledru mused, as though he had but half heard. Then with a start: “Oh, but most certainly not. No, it is rather a heaviness upon the mind—a weight as of lead upon brain and thoughts, while my legs are like paper under me.” Lifting his hat he passed a thin hand over his forehead. “It is such as when one cannot recall a name and goes under a burden until memory releases it. "
6 " We don't need vows, you and I', he said, 'nor gold nor metal. What we are to each other lasts to the grave and beyond. "