This project is going nowhere.

So it came about that at three o'clock of that same afternoon, Rhoda Dawes and Anne Meredith sat primly on their chairs in Poirot's neat room and sipped blackberry sirop (which they disliked very much but were too polite to refuse) from old-fashioned glasses.

There was very little wind, though now and again a catspaw hurrying from the south helped them on their way and darkened the smooth small waves.

A links is best when it’s really firm and when the wind is really up.