1) She liked honey. Honey in the comb, and strain it yourself through a muslin bag. Drip, drip, drip… There was somebody in the room… somebody all wet and dripping… Beatrice Taylor come from the river… She had only to turn her head and she would see her.   2) Vera cried. “But that bee? It can’t be coincidence?” Lombard said grimly: “Oh, no, it isn’t coincidence! It’s our murderer’s touch of local colour! He’s a playful beast. Likes to stick to his damnable nursery jingle as closely as possible!” For the first time his voice was uneven, almost shrill. It was as though even his nerves, seasoned by a long career of hazards and dangerous undertakings, had given out at last.   3) There was little pretence now – no formal veneer of conversation. They were five enemies linked together by a mutual instinct of self-preservation. And all of them, suddenly, looked less like human beings. They were reverting to more bestial types.   4) Vera Claythorne was very quiet. She sat most of the time huddled in a chair. Her eyes stared ahead of her into space. She looked dazed. She was like a bird that has dashed its head against glass and that has been picked up by a human hand. It crouches there, terrified, unable to move, hoping to save itself by its immobility.    Перевести нужно красиво творчески