Lord Cronshaw’s party consisted of six people: he himself, his uncle, the Honourable Eustace Beltane, a pretty American widow, Mrs. Mallaby, a young actor, Chris Davidson, his wife, and last but not least, Miss Coco Courtenay. It was a fancy dress ball, as you know, and.
Wherever there is human nature, there is drama. But – it is not always just where you think it is. Remember that.
There comes to everyone a turning point in their lives, M. Poirot. They stand at the crossroads and have to decide. My profession interests me enormously; it is a sorrow – a very great sorrow – to abandon it. But there are other claims. There is, M. Poirot, the happiness of a human being.
Speech, so a wise old Frenchman said to me once, is an invention of man’s to prevent him from thinking. It is also an infallible means of discovering that which he wishes to hide.
I did not tell you that Helena Andrenyi was Mrs. Armstrong’s sister?
He was a small shrunken little man, so nondescript as to be practically nonexistent.
But it wasn’t really scandals Miss Marple wanted. Nothing to get your teeth into in scandals nowadays. Just men and women changing partners, and calling attention to it, instead of trying decently to hush it up and be properly ashamed of themselves.
Men are like that... They remain boys...
My flute, M. Poirot, is my oldest companion. When everything else fails, music remains.
But why? What earthly benefit can accrue from such a crime – even in the most diseased imagination?
I thought then, and indeed have thought ever since, what a wonderful person Max is. He is so quiet, so sparing with words of commiseration. He does things. He does just the things you want done and that consoles you more than anything else could.
The darkest day, lived till tomorrow, will have passed away?
From the very first I took a firm and rooted dislike to him, and I flatter myself that my first judgments are usually fairly shrewd.
Linnet laughed. ‘Why, I haven’t got an enemy in the world.
A murderer is always a gambler. And, like many gamblers, a murderer often does not know when to stop. With each crime his opinion of his own abilities is strengthened. His sense of proportion is warped. He does not say, ‘I have been clever and lucky!’ No, he says only, ‘l have been clever!’ And his opinion of his cleverness grows... and then, roes amis, the ball spins.
He’s got a wife,” I said. “Quite a nice wife, and two obstreperous children – boys.
I refuse to have my character improved.
Women were very queer. Unexpectedly cruel and unexpectedly kind.
It is curious – but you cannot make a revolution without honest men.
Not a look, not a gesture of Valerie Saintclair’s but expressed drama. She seemed to exhale an atmosphere of romance. A scarlet flannel dressing gown covered her feet – a homely garment in all conscience; but the charm of her personality invested it with an exotic flavour, and it seemed an Eastern robe of glowing colour.