"They are gradually disappearing, you know," he said, "the traditional Christmases. People now celebrate them in hotels. However, the English Christmas, with the whole family gathered, with the children and their stockings, the Christmas tree, the turkey and the plum pudding, the Christmas crackers. The snowman outside the window..."
For the sake of accuracy, Hercule Poirot had to interrupt him. "To make a snowman, there must first be snow," he commented sternly. "And snow does not fall on command... not even for the sake of English Christmases." "The other day I was talking with a friend of mine at the meteorological service," said Mr. Jessmond, "and he told me that it is very likely we will indeed have snow at Christmas." He shouldn't have said that. Hercule Poirot shuddered all over.
"Snow in the countryside!" he said. "That is truly repulsive. Snow and a huge, frozen, stone manor." "It is not like that at all," disagreed Mr. Jessmond. "Many things have changed in the last ten years. Now there is central heating with oil." "They have central oil heating at Kings Lacey?" asked Poirot. For a moment, it seemed as if he was reconsidering.
Mr. Jessmond took advantage of the opportunity. "Of course," he said, "and an excellent water heating system. Radiators in every bedroom. I assure you, my dear Mr. Poirot, that Kings Lacey has all the comforts for winter. In fact, you might even find the house excessively warm." "I find that unlikely," said Hercule Poirot.