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White Horse Hotel _ Agatha Christie _ txt Novel Pa (14th Dec 22 at 7:04am UTC)
White Horse Hotel _ Agatha Christie _ txt Novel Paradise
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Later, I met Jim Colligan, and his strange list -- the list of names involved in Father Gorman's death -- of Hegis Dubois, and Tuckerton -- reminded me of that night at Luigi's Coffee Shop. By the way, there is also the name of Delafontaine. Madame Oliver had also mentioned that she had a sick friend whose name was de la Fontaine. Now, this sick friend is dead. Next, for reasons I didn't understand, I went to the florist where Barbie worked, but she vehemently denied knowing anything about the white horse. Strangely enough, she was afraid. Today, I finally ran into these people, Thesha Gray, at the White Horse. But obviously, the "white horse" and the people who live in it are one thing, and the list is another thing, and they have nothing to do with each other. Why do I always associate them with each other in my mind? Why do I think there is a relationship between them? Madame de la Fontaine lived in London, Donmarcina Tuckerton lived in Surrey, and there was no one on the list who had anything to do with the little village of Dippin, Macquarie, unless — I walked over to the Royal Arms Hotel, which has an unpretentious exterior and a new sign that says "Lunch, Dinner,industrial racking systems, Tea". I pushed the door and entered. The bar on the left was not open yet. On the right was a small smoking room with a strong smell of smoke. There is a sign "office" at the top of the stairs. Outside the office was a large glass window, tightly closed. There is also a sign that says "Please ring the bell.". At this time, the whole room smelled of a desolate bar. There was a visitor's book on the shelf outside the office window. I opened it casually. There were no visitors. There were only about five or six people a week. Most of them came only one night. I looked at the names of the visitors casually. After a while, I closed the register. It was still quiet, and I didn't want to ask any questions at the moment anyway, so I went back to the soft, wet afternoon atmosphere outside. Is it just a coincidence that a man named Sandford and a man named Parkinson were at the Royal Arms Hotel last year? Both surnames are on Colligan's list. Yes, these two surnames are not rare,heavy duty cantilever racks, but I found another name-Martin Digby. If this Martin Digby is the one I know, he is the grandnephew of Mrs. Hegiss-Dubois, whom I used to call Min Gu. I sauntered forward, eager to talk to someone, Jim Colligan, or David Adinley, or Hermia, who had always been calm. In a word, I hope to find someone who can solve the mystery in my mind. After about half an hour of walking through the muddy alleys, I finally reached the door of the vicar's house and rang the rusty bell in front of it. (2) "The electric bell is broken." Mrs. Catsop came out from behind the door like a sudden monster. In fact, I have long thought of this possibility. I had it repaired twice, "said Mrs. Cathop," but it broke at once, so I had to keep an eye on the door myself, lest anything important should happen and we should not be at home. You have something important to do, don't you? "It's-it's-yes, heavy duty metal racking ,industrial racking systems, it's important-I mean, it's important to me." "That's what I meant," she looked at me thoughtfully. Yeah, I can see that it's bad-who are you looking for? Priest "I-I don't know." I wanted to find the vicar-but now I felt a sudden hesitation, and I don't know why, but Mrs. Cathop gave me the answer at once. My husband is a good man, "she said." I mean, he's not only a priest, he's a good man, but sometimes he can't do things well. You know, good people don't understand evil. "She paused, and then said briskly," I think it's better to look for me. " I smiled and asked, "Is evil your specialty?" Yes, that's right. To run a parish, one must understand the wickedness of the parish.
” "But isn't that your husband's job?" "No, his duty is to forgive the sins of others," she corrected. "He can accept the confessions of others, but I can't. But," said Mrs. Cathop very cheerfully, "I can arrange and classify the sins for him. Knowing this, I can prevent others from being hurt in the same way. People can't help others-I mean myself. You know, only God can make people repent-maybe you don't understand, and many people don't understand now. "I can't match your expertise," I said. "But I want to prevent others from being hurt." She gave me a quick look. Oh, here's the thing! You'd better come in and we'll be comfortable. The living room of the vicarage was large and simple, and most of it was in the shadow of a huge Victorian Bush, but it was not dark, on the contrary, it had a comfortable feeling. On the big and old chair, there are many traces of people resting on it. A large clock on the mantelpiece gave a pleasant, heavy, regular sound. As soon as I entered the room, I felt that I could open my heart, speak freely and freely, and forget the worries brought about by the dazzling world outside. I can imagine round-eyed young girls weeping with vexation at the prospect of becoming unwed mothers to Mrs. Cassop, whose advice to them, though not necessarily traditional, was quite sound, and angry relatives pouring out their dissatisfaction with marriage here; Here, the mother told Mrs. Cathope that her little Bob was not a bad boy, but too vigorous, and that it was absurd to send him to the correction center; and here, too, the husband or wife poured out their troubles in marriage. At this moment, I, Mark Easterbrook, scholar, writer,automated warehouse systems, man of the world, am also here to express my troubles to a woman with gray hair, weather-beaten face and kind eyes. Why? I don't know. I just have a strange feeling that it's not wrong to talk to her. We just got to Thesha Gray's house for afternoon tea. I opened my mouth. It's very easy to explain things to Mrs Catsop. She can go on for you in a minute.
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