Swan Song: An Agatha Christie Short Story

‘Ah, yes,’ said Cowan. ‘Tosca is your part.’

Paula Nazorkoff drew herself up.

‘I am the greatest Tosca in the world,’ she said simply.

‘That is so,’ agreed Cowan. ‘No one can touch you.’

‘Roscari will sing “Scarpia”, I suppose?’

Cowan nodded.

‘And Emile Lippi.’

‘What?’ shrieked Nazorkoff. ‘Lippi, that hideous little barking frog, croak – croak – croak. I will not sing with him, I will bite him, I will scratch his face.’