The Way Through The Woods

• Colin Dexter
  
  • acknowledgements
    
  • prolegomenon
    
  • CHAPTER ONE
    
  • CHAPTER TWO
    
  • CHAPTER THREE
    
  • chapter four
    
  • chapter five
    
  • chapter seven
    
  • chapter eight
    
  • chapter nine
    
  • chapter ten
    
  • chapter eleven
    
  • chapter twelve
    
  • chapter thirteen
    
  • chapter fourteen
    
  • chapter fifteen
    
  • chapter sixteen
    
  • chapter seventeen
    
  • chapter eighteen
    
  • chapter nineteen
    
  • chapter twenty
    
  • chapter twenty-one
    
  • chapter twenty-two
    
  • chapter twenty-three
    
  • chapter twenty-four
    
  • chapter twenty-five
    
  • chapter twenty-six
    
  • chapter twenty-seven
    
  • chapter twenty-eight
    
  • chapter twenty-nine
    
  • chapter thirty
    
  • chapter thirty-one
    
  • chapter thirty-two
    
  • chapter thirty-three
    
  • chapter thirty-four
    
  • chapter thirty-five
    
  • chapter thirty-six
    
  • chapter thirty-seven
    
  • chapter thirty-eight
    
  • chapter thirty-nine
    
  • chapter forty
    
  • chapter forty-one
    
  • chapter forty-two
    
  • chapter forty-three
    
  • chapter forty-four
    
  • chapter forty-five
    
  • chapter forty-six
    
  • chapter forty-seven
    
  • chapter forty-eight
    
  • chapter forty-nine
    
  • chapter fifty
    
  • chapter fifty-one
    
  • chapter fifty-two
    
  • chapter fifty-three
    
  • chapter fifty-four
    
  • chapter fifty-five
    
  • chapter fifty-six
    
  • chapter fifty-seven
    
  • chapter fifty-eight
    
  • chapter fifty-nine
    
  • chapter sixty
    
  • chapter sixty-one
    
  • chapter sixty-two
    
  • chapter sixty-three
    
  • chapter sixty-four
    
  • chapter sixty-five
    
  • chapter sixty-six
    
  • chapter sixty-seven
    
  • chapter sixty-eight
    
  • chapter sixty-nine
    
  • epilogue
    
  • Colin Dexter
    

Weather and rain have undone it again,
And now you would never know
There was once a road through the woods
Before they planted the trees.
It is underneath the coppice and heath
And the thin anemones.
Only the keeper sees
That, where the ring-dove broods,
And the badgers roll at ease,
There was once a road through the woods.

Though your sins be as scarlet, they shall be whiter, yea whiter, than snow

(Isaiah,
ch. i, v. 18)

Whereof one cannot speak, thereof one must be silent

(Wittgenstein,
Philosophical Investigations)