This is actually one passage today, considering it’s so long. From Agatha Christie’s Hercule Poirot: Murder on the Orient Express, which I am reading for the first time.

The other looked at him shrewdly.

“Name your figure, then,” he said.

Poirot shook his head.

“You do not understand, Monsieur. I have been very fortunate in my profession. I have made enough money to satisfy both my needs and caprices. I take now only such cases as – interest me.”

“You’ve got a pretty good nerve,” said Ratchet. “Will twenty thousand dollars tempt you?”

“It will not.”

“If you’re holding out for more, you won’t get it. I know what a thing’s worth to me.”

“I also- M. Ratchett.”

“What’s wrong with my proposition?”

Poirot rose.

“If you will forgive me for being personal – I do not like your face, M. Ratchett,” he said.

And with that, he left the restaurant car.

POIROT IS #SAVAGE