"The world is full of them--it is made up of them, with just a sprinkling of knaves to batten on their folly.

Go to bed, Sylvia, and pray for understanding of men.

It is a possession beyond riches." "I think you are more in need of it than I am," she told him, standing by the door.
"Of course you do.

You trust, which is why you are a fool.

Trust," he said, speaking the very language of Polichinelle, "is the livery of fools." She went without answering him and toiled upstairs with dragging feet.
She paused a moment in the corridor above, outside Una's door.