To Say Nothing of the Dog (Oxford Time Travel) (Connie Willis)

“Lady Schrapnell had the idea that if the bishop’s bird stump survived the fire, it might have been put in storage somewhere in the new cathedral, so she sent me to interview the bishops’ wives because, and I quote, ‘Men don’t know where anything’s kept.’”

I left them and ran back up to check on the eggs and the cat. She was sleeping soundly. And soundlessly, which was even better.

There is nothing more helpful than shouted instructions, particularly incomprehensible ones.

And Cyril looked so pathetically glad to see me that I was sorry for the curses I’d been rehearsing for Terence. “Come along, old fellow,” I said. “You have to be very quiet. Like Flush, when Elizabeth Barrett Browning eloped.” Which had been in these times, come to think of it. I wondered how she had managed to sneak down the stairs and out of a pitch-black house without killing herself. And carrying a suitcase and a cocker spaniel, too. I was beginning to have a lot of respect for the Victorians.

“Books!” Mrs. Mering said. “Entirely too many people read books these days,” and swept from the room.