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Hercule Poirot had been brought up to believe that all outside air was best left outside, and that night air was especially dangerous to the health.
She sobbed out brokenly: ‘It’s so lovely—the night and the blueness and the stars. If only we could be part of it all…If only we could be like other people instead of being as we are—all queer and warped and wrong.’
‘They turned me out of one place today because I had on a sleeveless dress,’ she said ruefully. ‘Apparently the Almighty doesn’t like my arms in spite of having made them.’
Dr Gerard murmured: ‘La famille Boynton sees the world.’
Dr Gerard shrugged his shoulders and remarked that the American woman ruled the earth—that was well known.
There was no self-consciousness in her attitude to life. She was interested in humanity and was of a friendly though impatient disposition.
Because I’ve always found Americans unusually self-possessed.
In the shelter of her lap they were picking—picking—tearing a delicate handkerchief into tiny shreds. It gave him a horrible shock. The aloof remote smile—the still body—and the busy destructive hands…
Dr Gerard had once met a woman who performed a most dangerous and spectacular act with tigers. The great slinking brutes had crawled to their places and performed their degrading and humiliating tricks. Their eyes and subdued snarls told of hatred, bitter fanatical hatred, but they had obeyed, cringed.
Into these dark imaginings a breath of the commonplace came with almost ludicrous effect.
Americans are disposed to be a friendly race. They have not the uneasy suspicion of the travelling Briton.
‘There are methods, Mr Cope, of preventing a tree from growing.’
The American flushed. Then he looked straight at the other with a certain simple dignity.
‘My dear sir, chivalry only lives nowadays in the American nation! You are content to serve your lady without hope of reward!
He was unimpressed by the remark. He had heard it made before by people of many different nationalities. The illusion that freedom is the prerogative of one’s own particular race is fairly widespread.
Dr Gerard was wiser. He knew that no race, no country and no individual could be described as free. But he also knew that there were different degrees of bondage.
She does not love tyranny because she has been a wardress. Let us rather say that she became a wardress because she loved tyranny. In my theory it was a secret desire for power over other human beings that led her to adopt that profession.’
Man is an animal very delicately balanced. He has one prime necessity—to survive. To advance too quickly is as fatal as to lag behind. He must survive! He must, perhaps, retain some of the old savagery, but he must not—no definitely he must not—deify it!’
I know that ambition—the desire to succeed—to have power—leads to most ills of the human soul. If the desire is realized it leads to arrogance, violence and final satiety—and if it is denied—ah! if it is denied—let all the asylums for the insane rise up and give their testimony! They are filled with human beings who were unable to face being mediocre, insignificant, ineffective and who therefore created for themselves ways of escape from reality so as to be shut off from life itself for ever.’
Should one, if one sees a wrong being done, attempt to put it right? One’s interference may do good—but it may do incalculable harm! It is impossible to lay down any ruling on the subject. Some people have a genius for interference—they do it well! Some people do it clumsily and had therefore better leave it alone!
If you have a belief in yourself and in the rightness of what you are doing, you can often accomplish things that are well worth while! (Incidentally, you often do a good deal of harm!)
Consequently you, who have just been thwarted in obtaining what you want, naturally resent the existence of people who have been more successful in life than you are.’
Dr Gerard had displayed throughout the conversation a levity which Lady Westholme, who, being a true politician, had no sense of humour, found definitely deplorable.
‘Civilization is all wrong—all wrong! But for civilization there wouldn’t be a Mrs Boynton! In savage tribes they’d probably have killed and eaten her years ago!’
‘It’s a wonderful idea—to have a place of sacrifice up here. I think sometimes, don’t you, that a sacrifice is necessary…I mean, one can have too much regard for life. Death isn’t really so important as we make out.’
yea, he that is not is better than dead or living; for he doth not know of the evil that is wrought for ever on earth…’
‘I am interested in everything!’ ‘Yes,’ said Carbury. ‘That’s the only way to react to life.’
Hercule Poirot threw up his hands. ‘Alas! one is always incurably interested in one’s own subject.’
‘I am gifted—yes,’ said the little man. He smiled modestly.
On the whole, you know, people tell you the truth. Because it is easier!
‘Yes, there is a doubt! There is the doubt that any man, who is honest, would be likely to feel.’ Sarah nodded. ‘Yes, I know. One always distrusts those people who are over sure.
Lady Westholme entered the room with the assurance of a transatlantic liner coming into dock.
‘Fatigue,’ said Lady Westholme, ‘can be conquered like everything else. I make a point of never giving in to my bodily needs.’
‘I always say a cup of tea makes all the difference,’ murmured Miss Pierce vaguely.
‘Is he as much of a fool as he looks?’ asked Sarah. Dr Gerard said gravely: ‘He is not a fool at all.’ ‘I was afraid of that,’ said Sarah King.
He has ideals—based, really, on a deep instinct of laziness. To take human nature at its best, and the world as a pleasant place is undoubtedly the easiest course in life! Jefferson Cope has, consequently, not the least idea what people are really like.’
‘Your position certainly seems impeccable,’ said Poirot with gravity. ‘In a work of fiction you would be strongly suspected on that account.’
Fair warning: There are two things you must do if you know nothing of the book: discuss it with no one, and read it with all speed.
