The Murder on the Links

For whom will a woman lie? Sometimes for herself, usually for the man she loves, always for her children

'Your idea of a woman is someone who gets on a chair and shrieks if she sees a mouse. That's all prehistoric.

And she turned and ran back up the road, looking like a modern Atalanta. I stared after her.

'Mon ami,' said Poirot, in his gentle ironical voice, 'is it that we are to remain planted here all night--just because you have seen a beautiful young woman, and your head is in a whirl.'