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Blood tells - always remember that - blood tells.
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This, Hastings, will be my last case. It will be, too, my most interesting case - and my most interesting criminal.
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Never do I deceive you, Hastings. I only permit you to deceive yourself.
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In my end is my beginning - that's what people are always saying. But what does it mean? And just where does my story begin? I must try and think...
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But to succeed in life every detail should be arranged well beforehand.
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Is it coding - or code breaking? Is it like Deborah’s job? Do be careful, Tommy, people go queer doing that and can’t sleep and walk about all night groaning and repeating 978345286 or something like that and finally have nervous breakdowns and go into homes.
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There were to be no short cuts to the truth. Instead he would have to adopt a longer, but a reasonably sure method. There would have to be conversation. Much conversation. For in the long run, either through a lie, or through truth, people were bound to give themselves away...
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'Well, what are you doing? What have you done?' 'I am sitting in this char,' said Poirot. 'Thinking,' he added. 'Is that all?' said Mrs. Oliver. 'It is the important thing,' said Poirot.
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'I saw a particular personage and I threatened him - yes, Mademoiselle, I, Hercule Poirot, threatened him.' 'With the police?' 'No,' said Poirot drily, 'With the Press - a much more deadly weapon.'
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‘You’re frightfully BBC in your language this afternoon, Albert,’ said Tuppance, with some exasperation. Albert looked slightly taken aback and reverted to a more natural form of speech. ‘I was listening to a very interesting talk on pond life last night,’ he explained.
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Harold Waring, like many other Englishmen, was a bad linguist.
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Freckles are so earnest and Scottish.
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The crime is now logical and reasonable.
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Understand this, I mean to arrive at the truth. The truth, however ugly in itself, is always curious and beautiful to seekers after it.
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It is the misfortune of small, precise men always to hanker after large and flamboyant women.
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'You do well. Method and order, they are everything,' replied Poirot.
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‘I have often noticed that being a devoted wife saps the intellect,’ murmured Tommy.
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Oh dear, I never realized what a terrible lot of explaining one has to do in a murder!
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The fellow is an absolute outsider, anyone can see that. He’s got a great black beard, and wears patent leather boots in all weathers!
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You have an excellent heart, my friend - but your grey cells are in a deplorable condition.
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'It makes her rather alarming,' I said. 'Sincerity has that effect,' said Miss Marple.
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One forgets how human murderers are.
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I am not keeping back facts. Every fact that I know is in your possession. You can draw your own deductions from them.
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‘If one approaches a problem with order and method there should be no difficulty in solving it - none whatever,’ said Pirot severely.