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THE MURDER OF ROGER ACKROYD
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.
THE END
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