Vera Claythorne
Traits and Quotes
Delirious
They stared at her uncomprehendingly. It was as though the sane well-balanced girl had gone mad before their eyes. She went on in that high unnatural voice:
“Don’t stare like that! As though you thought I was mad. It’s sane enough what I’m asking. Bees, hives, bees! Oh, don’t you understand? Haven’t you read that idiotic rhyme? It’s up in all your bedrooms – put there for you to study! We might have come here straightaway if we’d had sense. Seven little Indian boys chopping up sticks. And the next verse. I know the whole thing by heart, I tell you! Six little Indian boys playing with a hive. And that’s why I’m asking – do they keep bees on this island? – isn’t it funny? – isn’t it damned funny…?”
Paralyze
Vera Claythorne was very quiet. She sat most of the time huddled in a chair. Her eyes stared ahead of her into space. She looked dazed. She was like a bird that has dashed its head against glass and that has been picked up by a human hand. It crouches there, terrified, unable to move, hoping to save itself by its immobility.
Deranged
She though:
“How odd…I’m almost happy. And yet I suppose I’m actually in danger…Somehow – now – nothing seems to matter…not in daylight…I feel full of power – I feel that I can’t die…”
They stared at her uncomprehendingly. It was as though the sane well-balanced girl had gone mad before their eyes. She went on in that high unnatural voice:
“Don’t stare like that! As though you thought I was mad. It’s sane enough what I’m asking. Bees, hives, bees! Oh, don’t you understand? Haven’t you read that idiotic rhyme? It’s up in all your bedrooms – put there for you to study! We might have come here straightaway if we’d had sense. Seven little Indian boys chopping up sticks. And the next verse. I know the whole thing by heart, I tell you! Six little Indian boys playing with a hive. And that’s why I’m asking – do they keep bees on this island? – isn’t it funny? – isn’t it damned funny…?”
Paralyze
Vera Claythorne was very quiet. She sat most of the time huddled in a chair. Her eyes stared ahead of her into space. She looked dazed. She was like a bird that has dashed its head against glass and that has been picked up by a human hand. It crouches there, terrified, unable to move, hoping to save itself by its immobility.
Deranged
She though:
“How odd…I’m almost happy. And yet I suppose I’m actually in danger…Somehow – now – nothing seems to matter…not in daylight…I feel full of power – I feel that I can’t die…”
Her crime that the Voice said
Vera Elizabeth Claythorne, that on the 11th day of August, 1935, you killed Cyril Ogilvie Hamilton.
How she died
She hanged herself in her room. She had weird thoughts in her mind.