I love Agatha Christie novels. I don't regard them as great literature, but her plots are intriguing and entertaining, and they offer me an escape from 2010 America to 1924 Britain. This particular conversation stood out to me today.
"Has it ever struck you," Porter said, "that civilisation's damned dangerous?"
"Dangerous?" Such a revolutionary remark shocked Mr. Satterthwaite to the core.
"Yes. There are no safety valves, you see."
Perhaps that is what I've been looking for—a safety valve. Unlike Mr. Porter, I think they exist. I've spent the summer wanting to escape through a safety valve in the form of a sunny, muddy, moderately-paced river. But right now I'm flowing through a narrow tube at high pressure right into London. Yes—London. And there's no way out. Not that I want one, I think.
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