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I
wish
I
could
have
known
beforehand
that
Flora
was
going
to
say
she
’
d
seen
her
uncle
alive
at
a
quarter
to
ten
.
That
puzzled
me
more
than
I
can
say
.
In
fact
,
all
through
the
case
there
have
been
things
that
puzzled
me
hopelessly
.
Everyone
seems
to
have
taken
a
hand
.
My
greatest
fear
all
through
has
been
Caroline
.
I
have
fancied
she
might
guess
.
Curious
the
way
she
spoke
that
day
of
my
"
strain
of
weakness
.
"
Well
,
she
will
never
know
the
truth
.
There
is
,
as
Poirot
said
,
one
way
out
…
I
can
trust
him
.
He
and
Inspector
Raglan
will
manage
it
between
them
.
I
should
not
like
Caroline
to
know
.
She
is
fond
of
me
,
and
then
,
too
,
she
is
proud
…
My
death
will
be
a
grief
to
her
,
but
grief
passes
…
When
I
have
finished
writing
,
I
shall
enclose
this
whole
manuscript
in
an
envelope
and
address
it
to
Poirot
And
then
–
what
shall
it
be
?
Veronal
?
There
would
be
a
kind
of
poetic
justice
.
Not
that
I
take
any
responsibility
for
Mrs
.
Ferrars
’
s
death
.
It
was
the
direct
consequence
of
her
own
actions
.
I
feel
no
pity
for
her
.
I
have
no
pity
for
myself
either
.
So
let
it
be
veronal
.
But
I
wish
Hercule
Poirot
had
never
retired
from
work
and
come
here
to
grow
vegetable
marrows
.