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“
Fortunately
her
husband
was
homme
pratique
.
He
was
also
very
calm
,
the
crises
of
the
nerves
,
they
affected
him
not
.
Il
l
’
a
emportée
simplement
!
Naturally
when
she
reached
England
she
was
prostrate
,
but
she
still
breathed
.
”
Poirot
shook
his
head
seriously
.
I
composed
my
face
as
best
I
could
.
Suddenly
he
stiffened
and
pointed
a
dramatic
finger
at
the
toast
rack
.
“
Ah
,
par
exemple
,
c
’
est
trop
fort
!
”
he
cried
.
“
What
is
it
?
”
“
This
piece
of
toast
.
You
remark
him
not
?
”
He
whipped
the
offender
out
of
the
rack
,
and
held
it
up
for
me
to
examine
.
“
Is
it
square
?
No
.
Is
it
a
triangle
?
Again
no
.
Is
it
even
round
?
No
.
Is
it
of
any
shape
remotely
pleasing
to
the
eye
?
What
symmetry
have
we
here
?
None
.
”
“
It
’
s
cut
from
a
cottage
loaf
,
”
I
explained
soothingly
.
Poirot
threw
me
a
withering
glance
.
