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The room was lighted by four candles, on the table. I am rather short-sighted, and so I did not immediately notice that there were low book-cases all round the walls. Why the presence of these book-cases should have caused me a certain astonishment I do not know, but it did. To Mr Brindley's right hand was a bottle of Bass and a corkscrew.
Its failure had been predicted; and, like Brindley's Barton Viaduct, it had been freely spoken of as a "castle in the air."
Jan was in and out of the Transport Office door while Miss Brindley and Jo were being followed around the streets by a jeering crowd of children, who seemed to think that Miss Brindley's india-rubber boot-top leggings and Jo's corrugated stockings and safety-pinned-up skirt out of place. We bought some bags from a woman we afterwards heard was suspected of being an Austrian spy.
Mildred said to Cyrilla: "No, don't move. We'll go into the drawing-room." He followed her there, and when the sound of Mrs. Brindley's step in the hall had died away, he began: "I think I understand you a little now. I shan't insult you by returning or destroying that note or the check. I accept your decision unless you wish to change it." He looked at her with eager appeal.
See you this evening, Bob's asked me to supper." A servant was sweeping Bob Brindley's porch and the front door was open. I went in. The sound of the piano guided me to the drawing-room. Brindley, the morning cigarette between his lips, was playing one of Maurice Ravel's "L'heure espagnole." He held his head back so as to keep the smoke out of his eyes.
She spoke of the vagaries of the Town Hall clock, the health of Mr Brindley's children, the price of coal, the incidence of the annual wakes, the bankruptcy of the draper next door, and her own sciatica, all in the same tone of metallic tender solicitude. Mr Brindley adopted an entirely serious attitude towards her.
'She is not, said Mr Brindley. And his tone implied: 'Thank God for it! Very soon afterwards, at the top of a hill, he drew me into the garden of a large house which stood back from the road. It was quite a different sort of house from Mr Brindley's. One felt that immediately on entering the hall, which was extensive.
Sitting in his study, with Titus between us on the hearthrug, we knew no more what to say or do. I regretted that Brindley's wife's grandmother should have been born on a fifteenth of February. Brindley was a vivacious talker, he could be trusted to talk. I, too, am a good talker with another good talker. With a bad talker I am just a little worse than he is.
When she returned to Mrs. Brindley's already she had ceased to think of it as home she announced her new plans. Mrs. Brindley said nothing, but Mildred understood the quick tightening of the lines round her mouth and the shifting of the eyes. She hastened to explain that Mrs. Belloc was no longer the sort of woman or the sort of landlady she had been a few months before. Mrs.
We have to be more or less intimate, but we'll never be familiar." After a time she discovered that Mrs. Brindley's first name was Cyrilla, but Mrs. Brindley and Miss Stevens they remained to each other for a long time until circumstances changed their accidental intimacy into enduring friendship.
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