Hercule Poirot:
Forgive a Freudian question - do you love your mother?
McQueen:
I did. She died when I was eight. An impressionable age. Why? Why do you ask?
Hercule Poirot:
We shared a compartment on the first night of our journey. You cried out for mother twice in your sleep.
McQueen:
Did I? I still dream about her. Go on, tell me! I'm emotionally retarded! Tell me that's why I never married.
Hercule Poirot:
I am not here to tell you anything, Mr. McQueen. You are here to tell me.
Riportata da il 05/03/2025 alle ore 08:39

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