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“Ce n’est rien. Je me suis trompé.” “Bien, Monsieur.” The conductor scurried off again, to knock at the door where the light was showing. Poirot returned to bed, his mind relieved, and switched off the light. He glanced at his watch. It was just twenty-three minutes to one.
Murder on the Orient Express (Hercule Poirot, #10)
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