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endhouse

 

“Freddie, give me your wrist watch as as a souvenir, will you?”

Slowly Frederica unclasped the jeweled watch from her wrist and handed it to Nick.

“Thanks. And now I suppose we must go through with this perfectly ridiculous comedy.”

“The comedy you planned and produced in End House. Yes but you should not have given the star part to Hercule Poirot. That, Mademoiselle, was your mistake your very grave mistake.”

Peril at End House, by Agatha Christie

Peril at End House

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“Imagine, Hastings,” he said, “that house there-the one on the point that we have admired so much, it belongs to Mademoiselle here.”
“Indeed?” I said, though I was unable to recall having expressed any admiration. In fact I had hardly noticed the house.
“It looks rather eerie and imposing standing there by itself far from anything.”
“It’s called End House,” said the girl. “I love it but it’s a tumble-down old place. Going to rack and ruin.”

Peril at End House

Agatha Christie