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He wants to own his woman; he doesn’t want her to own him.�
“Why can’t Jackie take it like a man?� demanded Simon resentfully. A very faint smile twitched Poirot’s upper lip. “Well, you see, Monsieur Doyle, to begin with she is not a man.�
“What do you do for a living? Nothing at all, I bet. Probably call yourself a middle man.� “I am not a middle man. I am a top man,� declared Hercule Poirot with a slight arrogance. “What are you?� “I am a detective,� said Hercule Poirot with the modest air of one who says “I am a king.�
“It’s so dreadfully easy—killing people. And you begin to feel that it doesn’t matter . . . that it’s only you that matters! It’s dangerous—that.�
