Sad Cypress (Hercule Poirot, #22)

by Agatha Christie

Something stirred; the folds of blanket round her brain lightened—became mere wraiths.

a kind of wild-rose unreality about her:

In that halting rustic voice the girl Mary lived and bloomed again.

“Ah, but life is like that! It does not permit you to arrange and order it as you will. It will not permit you to escape emotion, to live by the intellect and by reason! You cannot say, ‘I will feel so much and no more.’ Life, Mr. Welman, whatever else it is, is not reasonable!”