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.

In fact,' said Poirot, 'she stabbed him in the dark, not realising that he was dead already, but somehow deduced that he had a watch in his pyjama pocket, took it out, put back the hands blindly and gave it the requisite dent.

At my time of life, one knows that the worst is usually true.

Only mothers can't say they don't want their children and just go away.

Oh, you still don't understand,' he said impatiently. ‘I've fallen in love with her, and I'd like you to give me a divorce as soon as it can be arranged.' I suppose, with those words, that part of my life–my happy, successful confident life–ended. It was not as quick as that, of course–because I couldn't believe.

The longer the time that has elapsed, the more things fall into proportion. One sees them in their true relationship to one another.

Yet he had a certain charm of manner, and I fancied that, if one really knew him well, one could have a deep affection for him.