The Roof Might Fall In; Anything Could

Listen, Darling, Tomorrow I'll Buy You A Whole Lot Of Detective Stories, But Don't Worry Your Pretty Little Head Over Mysteries Tonight.

Samuel Spade's Jaw Was Long And Bony, His Chin A Jutting V Under The More Flexible V Of His Mouth. His Nostrils Curved Back To Make Another, Smaller, V. His Yellow-grey Eyes Were Horizontal. The V Motif Was Picked Up Again By Thickish Brows Rising Outward From Twin Creases Above A Hooked Nose, And His Pale Brown Hair Grew Down--from High Flat Temples--in A Point On His Forehead. He Looked Rather Pleasantly Like A Blond Satan.

The Cheaper The Crook, The Gaudier The Patter.

He Felt Like Somebody Had Taken The Lid Off Life And Let Him See The Works.

I Distrust A Man That Says When. If He's Got To Be Careful Not To Drink To Much It's Because He's Not To Be Trusted When He Does.