Убийство на поле для гольфа

26. I Receive a Letter

            …

           “I’mverytired. …Ican’twriteanymore. …”

           ShehadbeguntosignherselfCinderella,buthadcrossedthatoutandwritteninstead“DulcieDuveen.”

           Itwasanill-written,blurredepistlebutIhavekeptittothisday.

           PoirotwaswithmewhenIreadit.Thesheetsfellfrommyhand,andIlookedacrossathim.

           “Didyouknowallthetimethatitwas—theother?”

           “Yes,myfriend.”

           “Whydidyounottellme?”

           “Tobeginwith,Icouldhardlybelieveitconceivablethatyoucouldmakesuchamistake.Youhadseenthephotograph.Thesistersareveryalike,butbynomeansincapableofdistinguishment.”

           “Butthefairhair?”

           “Awig,wornforthesakeofapiquantcontrastonthestage.Isitconceivablethatwithtwinsoneshouldbefairandonedark?”

           “Whydidn’tyoutellmethatnightatthehotelinCoventry?”

           “Youwereratherhigh-handedinyourmethods,monami,”saidPoirotdryly.“Youdidnotgivemeachance.”

           “Butafterwards?”

           “Ah,afterwards!Well,tobeginwith,Iwashurtatyourwantoffaithinme.Andthen,Iwantedtoseewhetheryour—feelingswouldstandthetestoftime.Infact,whetheritwaslove,oraflashinthepan,withyou.Ishouldnothaveleftyoulonginyourerror.”

           Inodded.Histonewastooaffectionateformetobearresentment.Ilookeddownonthesheetsoftheletter.SuddenlyIpickedthemupfromthefloor,andpushedthemacrosstohim.

           “Readthat,”Isaid.“I’dlikeyouto.”

           Hereaditthroughinsilence,thenhelookedupatme

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