Bunny Lake Is Missing

Doll-maker:
[holding a damaged doll that he is trying to repair] I've got a near fatality here.

Doll-maker:
This doll had almost been loved to death. You know, love inflicts the most terrible injuries on my small patients.

[first lines]

Steven:
She may be a few minutes late. Will you please wait for her?

Mover:
Yes sir.

Mover:
Thank you.

[last lines]

Newhouse:
Sleep well. Both of you. Now that you exist.

Ada Ford:
I never lie, Superintendent.

Newhouse:
And that makes you a most unusual woman, Ms. Ford.

Andrews:
I didn't actually see anything in his flat, sir, but he could have gone in and taken the little girl's things any time this morning.

Newhouse:
Why should he, I wonder.

Andrews:
Bloody pervert, if you want my opinion, sir. Kept on asking Rogers to strike him.

Newhouse:
Please, Andrews, he works for the BBC.

Cook:
Junket is junket. No matter what you do with it, it still tastes like swill and swallows like slime.

Wilson:
If we hadn't been away we'd have organised a small but vociferous reception committee.

Wilson:
I have some more African heads in my apartment. Small, pickled ones. Do drop in anytime you care to meet some unsuccessful politicians.

Newhouse:
I must now, I suppose, enter the personality of a 4-year old female child possessed of a strong conviction that all forbidden doors are to be opened.

Newhouse:
Bus drivers are rarely observant. They tend to be dreamers, philosophers, that sort of thing. Self protection I suppose.

Wilson:
There are those at the BBC who bear like medals the bruises left by the love of Horatio Wilson.

Newhouse:
Ever heard him read poetry? It's like a Welsh parson gargling with molasses.