Thou shalt do no murder
Hercule Poirot dead of heart failure, I can hardly believe it. The walk. Mustache. The astonishing mental precision. Finally, the twisting, weaving of morals and ethics to deal with legal impossibilities, while clinging to the rosary.
Having been there, the implausibility was Poirot with his angina lifting the villain’s sleeping body from chair to wheelchair and wheelchair to bed. But I learned that I do like television after all. English mysteries. Miss Marple. Father Brown. Poirot. And there’s another priest isn’t there, an English vicar. But with Poirot's death, humanity’s loss of such fiery synapses; see, they all stop in Time, a light turned off, a candle snuffed.
As for the Sixth Commandment, how deontological shall we be with Hercule standing in for Yhwh? Or may we rule in partnership with? We should judge, eh, in our age in which rules of warfare, death and killing have so changed.
Lord, have mercy upon us, and incline our hearts to keep this law.