The Bishop Murder Case

“Oh, my dear fellow! I’m not indulgin’ in implications. I’m merely givin’ tongue to my youthful curiosity, don’t y’ know.”

“You’re probably right,” sighed Vance. “I haven’t any coruscatin’ arguments to combat you with. Only, I’m disappointed. I don’t like anticlimaxes, especially when they don’t jibe with my idea of the dramatist’s talent. Pardee’s death at this moment is too deuced neat—it clears things up too tidily. There’s too much utility in it, and too little imagination.”

“Do you play chess, by the by?” asked Vance.

“Used to. But no more. A beautiful game, though—if it wasn't for the players.”

I trust the clergy are not involved in this problem. They‘re notoriously unscientific. One can‘t attack them with mathematics.

Giving full rein to one‘s cynicism as one goes along produces a normal outlet and maintains an emotional equilibrium.

A fairy tale in terms of blood—a world in anamorphosis—a perversion of all rationality.… It’s unthinkable, senseless, like black magic and sorcery and thaumaturgy. It’s downright demented.

Only, as long as we‘re going insane we may as well go the whole way. A mere shred of sanity is of no value.