It was always the smaller ones that offered you a lift, or the old rusty ones, or the ones that were already crammed full of children and the driver would say, ‘I think we can squeeze in one more.’ - P33
He was a small ratty-faced man with grey teeth. His eyes were dark and quick and clever, like a rat’s eyes, and his ears were slightly pointed at the top. He had a cloth cap on his head and he was wearing a greyish-coloured jacket with enormous pockets. The grey jacket, together with the quick eyes and the pointed ears, made him look more than anything like some sort of a huge human rat. - P34
‘I’m sorry,’ I said. ‘It’s none of my business what you do. The trouble is, I’m a writer, and most writers are terrible nosey parkers.’ - P35
‘The secret of life,’ he said, ‘is to become very very good at somethin’ that’s very very ’ard to do.’ - P35
Like an executioner approaching his victim, the policeman came strolling slowly towards us. He was a big meaty man with a belly, and his blue breeches were skintight around his enormous thighs. His goggles were pulled up on the helmet, showing a smouldering red face with wide cheeks. - P38
‘’Ave I done somethin’ wrong?’ my passenger asked. His voice was as soft and oily as haircream. - P38
‘Michael Fish,’ my passenger said. ‘Address?’ ‘Fourteen, Windsor Lane, Luton.’ ‘Show me something to prove this is your real name and address,’ the policeman said. My passenger fished in his pockets and came out with a driving-licence of his own. - P39
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