Fortunately words, ingeniously used, will serve to mask the ugliness of naked facts. - Agatha Christie

There was a moment when I changed from an amateur to a professional. I assumed the burden of a profession, which is to write even when you don't want to, don't much like what you're writing, and aren't writing particularly well.

You are the patient one, Mademoiselle,' said Poirot to Miss Debenham.

She shrugged her shoulders slightly. 'What else can one do?'

You are a philosopher, Mademoiselle.'

That implies a detached attitude. I think my attitude is more selfish. I have learned to save myself useless emotion.

I suppose next time I come home I shall find you wearing false moustaches — or are you doing so now?'
Poirot winced. His moustaches had always been his sensitive point. He was inordinately proud of them. My words touched him on the raw.
'No, no, indeed, mon ami. That day, I pray the good God, is still far off. The false moustaches! Quelle Horreur!’
He tugged at them vigorously to assure me of their genuine character.
'Well, they are very luxuriant still,' I said.
'N’est-ce pas? Never, in the whole of London, have I seen a pair of moustaches to equal mine.'
A good job too, I thought privately.