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Men i tillegg til sin vitenskapelige begavelse hadde Lucy Eyelesbarrow en kjerne av godt, sunt menneskevett. Hun kunne ikke unngå å legge merke til at en fremragende akademisk innsats var enestående slett betalt. Hun nærte ikke noe ønske om å undervise og hun hadde glede av å komme i kontakt med langt mindre glimrende begavelser enn seg selv. Kort sagt, hun hadde en smak for mennesker, alle slags mennesker - og ikke de samme menneskene hele tiden. Uten å skamme seg over det likte hun også penger. For å tjene penger må man utnytte vareknapphet. Lucy Eyelesbarrow støtte straks på en meget alvorlig vareknapphet - knappheten på all slags velutdannet huslig arbeidskraft. Til den største forbauselse for sine venner og medstuderende gikk Lucy Eyelesbarrow inn i hushjelpyrket. [...] En av hennes regler var at hun aldri tok imot noe engasjement for lengre tid fremover. Fjorten dager var hennes vanlige periode - en måned i høyden under ekstraordinære omstendigheter. For de fjorten dagene måtte en betale! Men, i de fjorten dagene var ens liv et himmerike. En kunne slappe fullstendig av, reise til utlandet, bli hjemme, gjøre som en ville, trygg på at alt gikk bra på hjemmefronten i Lucy Eyelesbarrows kyndige hender.

— 4.50 fra Paddington by Agatha Christie (Page 26)

Det banket. Eller famlet på døren til kammerset. Løst, som om den som stod der ute, var redd for at han sov. Det var Pegutten. Da Johan lukket opp, spurte han: - Vil du spille Monopol? Johan sa ingenting, men Pegutten trodde kanskje at han nikket, for han hentet spilleplaten og esken med sedler og kort fra buffeten. Det var et norsk spill, og han gikk over til å snakke norsk. Johan sa at Pegutten kunne ha banken, men angret nesten, for det var ikke lett å vurdere gatene og torgene uten å se kortene foran seg. - Jeg har aldri vært i Oslo, sa han da det begynte å gå dårlig, og det gjorde det nesten med en gang. - Ikke jeg heller, svarte Pegutten. Men han hadde allerede Rådhusplassen og Prinsens gate. Det var uhyggelig dyrt å havne der, og det gjorde Johan ganske snart. Han hadde uflaks også. Neste gang det var hans tur, tok han et kort der det stod: Gå i fengsel! - Fy faen, sa han. - Godt det bare er et spill. Det var Pegutten enig i, og de spilte en hel omgang som han vant overlegent. Så hentet han Pepsicola og potetgull, og da var klokken halv to. Han spurte om de skulle fortsette, og Johan sa ja. Han tok en tablett til, og nå fikk han ha banken. De satte seg på sofaen begge to, slik at den som ikke kastet og flyttet, kunne halvligge og hvile seg. Johan våknet ved femtiden av at Pegutten snorket. Han lå i den andre enden av sofaen med hodet på en korsstingspute. På brystet hans lå Ullevål hageby, Prinsens gate, Rådhusplassen og Trondheimsveien spredt utover.

— Hendelser ved vann by Kerstin Ekman (Page 230)

Later Clive saw Miriam Pearson carrying trays of plants to her plot from a car. She'd bought them in the garden centre, he took it. They'd need a whole lot of water before they even got into the ground would be his suggestion but he wouldn't give it unwarranted. Her path edges were looking neat. At the parish council Janice Green read a letter from the bus company which threatened to remove the service unless there was an improvement in the car-parking situation. There was general objection to the letter's tone but it was conceded that they had a point. A discussion about enforcement and pinch points ensued, and when everyone seemed to have finished William Pearson said that really what they were talking about at the end of the day was Martin Fowler constantly parking like a cunt. A number of those present actually turned their faces away. Judith was asked not to minute that last remark, and William was asked to leave, at which time it became clear that the coffee he'd been pouring from a flask all evening had been mainly whisky. Once the door was finally closed behind him it was noted that he did have a point about Martin's parking habits, and it was suggested that words would be had. In the conifers above Reservoir no. 5, a buzzard sat warmly on her eggs while the wind pulled through the trees. There was rain in the evenings of the sort it was pleasant to be in for a while, taking the dust from the air. Ashleigh Wright friended her father on Facebook. He had found her and sent a message and she was excited to be in touch. She knew not to tell him where they were living, but there was enough in her posts for him to work it out. He dropped the name of the village into conversation and she had a bad feeling she couldn't tell anyone about.

— Reservoir 13 by Jon McGregor (Page 167 - 168)

The next day Martin stopped off at Harefield to look at Ruth's new shop. She was surprised to see him. He was heading to his new job in town but this wasn't on his way. She asked how he was keeping and he said it was okay. There was a lot of fresh produce in wicker baskets, and sausages hanging in strings above the chiller counter, and a strong smell of coffee. There were many different types of olive. There were prices Martin found it difficult to believe people were actually paying, but when he asked how business was going Ruth said he'd be surprised. People had cut back on cars and foreign holidays, she told him, and they were spending what was left in shops like this. People liked to treat themselves to nice things. He wondered if this was a pointed remark but he let it settle. They'd had differences. It was done now. He was just glad to know things were going well. He drove into work fast enough that he almost lost grip on the last corner before town, and parked across two parking bays, and clocked on just before his shift was due. If he'd wanted a fucking economics lesson he would've asked.

— Reservoir 13 by Jon McGregor (Page 82 - 83)