Загадочное происшествие в Стайлзе

Chapter I. I Go to Styles

           Hecameacropper,andthegirlwasleftanorphanandpenniless.Mymothercametotherescue,andCynthiahasbeenwithusnearlytwoyearsnow.SheworksintheRedCrossHospitalatTadminster,sevenmilesaway.”

           Ashespokethelastwords,wedrewupinfrontofthefineoldhouse.Aladyinastouttweedskirt,whowasbendingoveraflowerbed,straightenedherselfatourapproach.

           “Hullo,Evie,here’sourwoundedhero!Mr.Hastings—MissHoward.”

           MissHowardshookhandswithahearty,almostpainful,grip.Ihadanimpressionofveryblueeyesinasunburntface.Shewasapleasant-lookingwomanofaboutforty,withadeepvoice,almostmanlyinitsstentoriantones,andhadalargesensiblesquarebody,withfeettomatch—theselastencasedingoodthickboots.Herconversation,Isoonfound,wascouchedinthetelegraphicstyle.

           “Weedsgrowlikehouseafire.Can’tkeepevenwith’em.Shallpressyouin.Betterbecareful.”

           “I’msureIshallbeonlytoodelightedtomakemyselfuseful,”Iresponded.

           “Don’tsayit.Neverdoes.Wishyouhadn’tlater.”

           “You’reacynic,Evie,”saidJohn,laughing.“Where’steato-day—insideorout?”

           “Out.Toofineadaytobecoopedupinthehouse.”

           “Comeonthen,you’vedoneenoughgardeningforto-day.‘Thelabourerisworthyofhishire’,youknow.Comeandberefreshed.”

           “Well,”saidMissHoward,drawingoffhergardeninggloves,“I’minclinedtoagreewithyou.”

           Sheledthewayroundthehousetowhereteawasspreadundertheshadeofalargesycamore.

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