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.