You'll pry my books off my cold, dead body. By the time you shift them all I'll be flat and dessicated.
On the subject of the pen Julia became indignant. She had never heard of such a thing -- or at any rate she had never read of such a thing -- or at any rate not in any piece of respectable crime fiction published since the beginning of the Second World War. A physical object, forsooth, with the initials of the suspect engraved on it -- why, it was worse than a fingerprint.
...If the progress of the past half century was to count for nothing, then one might as well go back, said Julia scathingly, to murders committed by means of arsenic or for motives of matrimonial jealousy.
"I do not doubt,: I said, "that in a crime novel having any pretensions of modernity, the pen would be quite inadmissible. As a mere historian, however, there is nothing I can do about it. Nature, as we know, does imitate Art, but I fear that she often falls short of the highest standards. Were you to turn your attention from fictional crimes to those reported in the newspapers, you would find that people are still leaving fingerprints and murdering unfaithful spouses for all the world as if they were living in the 1920s. In the more backward parts of the country they may even still be poisoning one another with arsenic. We cannot ignore the pen for the sake of literary fashion."