Labours Of Hercules By Agatha Christie

I want her to be happy grahams hard up of course and

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Unformatted text preview: in the end. He was perfectly all right up to thirty—normal as could be. Then he began to go a bit queer. It was some time before people noticed it. Then a lot of rumours began going around. People started talking properly. Things happened that were hushed up. But—well," he raised his shoulders "ended up as mad as a hatter, poor devil! Homicidal! Had to be certified." He paused for a moment and then added: "He lived to be quite an old man, I believe. . . . That's what Hugh is afraid of, of course. That's why he doesn't want to see a doctor. He's afraid of being shut 254 up and living shut up for years. Can't say I blame him. I'd feel the same." "And Admiral Chandler, how does he feel ?" "It's broken him up completely," Frobisher spoke shortly. "He is very fond of his son ?" "Wrapped up in the boy. You see, his wife was drowned in a boating accident when the boy was only ten years old. Since then he's lived for nothing but the child." "Was he very devoted to his wife ?" "Worshipped her. Everybody worshipped her. She was -- she was one of the loveliest women I've ever known." He paused a moment and then said jerkily, "Care to see her portrait ?" "I should like to see it very much." Frobisher pushed back his chair and rose. Aloud he said: "Going to show M. Poirot one or two things, Charles. He's a bit of a con *» noisseur." The Admiral raised a vague hand. Frobisher tramped along the terrace and Poirot followed him. For a moment Diana's face dropped its mask of gaiety and looked ^5 an agonised question. Hugh, too, raised his head, and looked steadily at the small man with the big black moustache. Poirot followed Frobisher into the house. It was so dim at first coming in out of the sunlight that he could hardly distinguish one article from another. But he realised that the house was full of old and beautiful things. Colonel Frobisher led the way to the Picture Gallery. On the panelled walls hung portraits of dead and gone Chandlers. Faces stern and gay, men in court dress or in Naval uniform. Women in satin and pearls. Finally Probisher stopped under a portrait at the end of the gallery. "Painted by Orpen,33 he said gruffly. They stood looking up at a tall woman, her hand on a greyhound's collar. A woman with auburn hair and an expression of radiant vitality. "Boy's the spitting image of her," said Frobisher. "Don't you think so ?33 "In some things, yes.55 "He hasn't got her delicacy -- her femininity, of course. He's a masculine edition -- but in all the essential things -- " He 256 broke off. "Pity he inherited from the Chandlers the one thing he could well have done without. . . ." They were silent. There was melancholy in the air all around them—as though dead and gone Chandlers sighed for the taint that lay in their blood and which, remorselessly, from time to time, they passed on. ....
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This note was uploaded on 07/28/2011 for the course LITERATURE 101 taught by Professor Agathachristie during the Spring '11 term at Heritage.

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