- "I’d assumed everything was lost, but now I perceive this isn’t the case. I can sense my memories just out of reach. They have weight and shape, like shrouded furniture in a darkened room. I’ve simply misplaced the light to see them by."
- “You doubt my intentions?” he says, prickling at my hesitation. “Of course I doubt your intentions. You wear a mask and you talk in riddles, and I don’t for a minute believe you brought me here just to solve a mystery. You’re hiding something.” “And you think stripping me of my disguise will reveal it?” he scoffs. “A face is a mask of another sort. You know that better than most."
- “I recall Bell’s conversation with the butler at the door and how afraid they both were. My hand throbs from the pain of Ravencourt’s cane as he struggled toward the library, shortly before Jim Rashton heaved a sack of stolen drugs out through the front door. I hear the light steps of Donald Davies on the marble, as he fled the house after his first meeting with the Plague Doctor, and the laughter of Edward Dance’s friends, even as he stood silent. So many memories and secrets, so many burdens. Every life has such weight. I don’t know how anybody carries even one.”
- “The Plague Doctor claimed Blackheath was meant to rehabilitate us, but bars can’t build better men and misery can only break what goodness remains. This place pinches out the hope in people, and without that hope, what use is love or compassion or kindness? Whatever the intention behind its creation, Blackheath speaks to the monster in us, and I have no intention of indulging mine any longer. It’s had free rein long enough.”
- Excerpts from The 7½ Deaths of Evelyn Hardcastle, by Stuart Turton
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