Daphne du Maurier: The House on the Strand (abridged)

It must have taken the best part of ten minutes…

He had gone. I was left holding the receiver…

It rained the following day…

The entrance gate at the far end…

The Bishop, keen-eyed, alert, was missing nothing

There had been no perceptible transition

I dialled the number of Magnus’s flat…

There was an airmail letter from Vita…

I packed up bottle B with great care…

This time, sitting motionless…

November…May…Six months must have passed…

She pushed aside her frame…

Feeling had returned to my limbs…

The telephone started ringing…

When I had dressed I went to the garage…

I had hardly put down the receiver…

The kitchen itself had become the living quarters…

‘Enter, sir, and welcome…’

We came to the other side of the house…

‘Hi, Dick,’ called the boys…

I noticed an unopened letter on my desk

The next day being Sunday…

‘Let me stay another night…’

She did not look at him…

If Magnus had wanted to drop a deliberate brick…

There was just enough breeze…

The moon awakened me

The monk, despite his preoccupation…

They were too intent upon their task…

I lay there waiting for the nausea…

It was like cutting off the only link…

I did not wake up until after ten…

Why the hell hadn’t Magnus telephoned…

I went along to my dressing-room…

There was a police car drawn up outside…

It would make sense to no one

The next morning she took the boys…

I went back into the house…

Magnus’s lawyer, Herbert Dench…

It was snowing

Isolda was standing by the window…

Roger, opening the hall-door…

Self-preservation is common to all living things…

The date of the inquest was fixed…

The inquest was over…

I heard her walk through the hall to the kitchen…

He lifted his head and listened

I knew it must happen, and it did

There was nothing I could do

The depth of an abyss…

I had the impression that everything…

We sat in the lounge at Exeter airport…

He shook his head…

There can have been no one in the loft…

I could not remember any more…