The Wannoshay had been here only eight months when the brewery blew up.

Blakemore brought a magnet near the microscope. Hundreds of swimming cells promptly swerved away from it in unison. They acted like tiny, self-propelled compass needles, aligning themselves to the local magnetic field. . . . Blakemore was astonished, but he knew an interesting phenomenon when he saw one.

There are always books that break out of those statistical bounds, of course, books that are many times as successful as they were supposed to be—and when this happens, the burning question on the publisher's/agent's/author's mind is, what happened? And more importantly, can I make it happen again?

They bring their dead to me daily / Rich or poor they bring their dead