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Updated: May 22, 2025
He twisted his soft hat in his hands in evident embarrassment, and his eyes wandered helplessly about the great bare room. "Who are you?" demanded the commissioner. "My name is Dummel, sir, Johann Dummel." "And your occupation?" "My occupation? Oh, yes, I I am a valet, valet to Professor Fellner." The commissioner sat up and looked interested. He knew Fellner personally and liked him.
Robbie alternately whispered, "It was north of the bridge," and chuckled, "Ah, ah! there's Garth, Garth but I downed him, the dummel head!" The little dalesman relinquished as hopeless all further attempt at rational converse, and gave himself the solemn assurance, conveyed to his acute intelligence by many grave shakes of the head, that "summat was ailin' the lad, after all."
"No, I looked through the keyhole." "Oh, indeed; is that a habit of yours?" Dummel blushed deeply, but his eyes flashed, and he looked angry. "No, it is not, sir," he growled. "I only did it this time because I was anxious about the master. He's been so worked up and nervous the last few days. Last night I went to the theatre, as I always do Saturday evenings.
With its graceful outlines and well-planned garden, the dwelling had a most attractive appearance. Opposite it was the broad avenue known as the Promenade, and beyond this were open fields. To the right and to the left were similar villas in their gardens. Dummel opened the door and the three men entered the house. The commissioner and the valet went in first, Muller following them more slowly.
This means more slush, wet, cold, and discomfort. About six or half-past he reaches home, thoroughly saturated, worn-out, cross, and "dummel." I don't know how to spell that word, nor what its etymology may be, but it well expresses the dumb, sullen churlishness which such a life as this engenders.
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