‘I felt, all the time, that she didn’t really know what she was talking about. She was rattling these things off—things she’d read in books or heard from her friends—it was like a parrot. She was—it’s a queer thing to say—pathetic somehow. So young and so self-confident.’ He paused. ‘There is something about youth, M. Poirot, that is—that can be—terribly moving.’
