Towards Zero

by Agatha Christie

She said with vehemence and trying to express what was so vivid in her mind and so halting on her tongue:

He was willing to address himself to the task of living, not with enthusiasm, not even with pleasure, but in a methodical day after day spirit.

A dawn of embarrassment showed in his face.

“A little malice,” agreed Mr. Treves, “adds a certain savour to life.”

I always hoped that when my time came, it would come quickly—that I should meet Death face to face—not feel him creeping along behind me, always at my shoulder—gradually forcing me to sink to one indignity after another of illness.

I believe whoever committed this crime was under the domination of one fixed idea—an idea on which they had brooded until literally nothing else mattered or had any importance.”

It was a clear night, but cold, with a sharp foretaste of winter.

Her small clear-cut face was peaceful and pure as a cameo.

A murder is the culmination of a lot of different circumstances, all converging at a given moment at a given point.