Agatha Christie's Poirot1989

[Hercule Poirot is breathing his Friars Balsam inhalant for his cold; his face covered with a towel. After sneezing three times, he takes the towel off, looking very under the weather, sweaty and exhausted]

Hercule Poirot:
[sotto voce] Ah, Mon Deu! Ah, suffit!

Miss Lemon:
[walking into the room; matter-of-fact] Nah, ah! Mr. Poirot, you only done seven minutes. You'll never cure your cold if you do not follow the instructions.

Hercule Poirot:
[congested] I can't imagine a method so undignified can cure anything, Miss Lemon. And so now I've got the back ache too... Anything in the mail, Miss Lemon?

Miss Lemon:
[setting his tea down on the table] Yes, and there's nothing for you. it's been only three weeks since your last case.

Hercule Poirot:
Three weeks? Three weeks is an eternity for a brain like mine!

[very distressed and melodramatic]

Hercule Poirot:
Without the constant stimulation, my little gray cells will starve and die! Already, you see, I am suffering the effects!

[Poirot begins dabbing his forehead with a handkerchief as he whimpers softly]