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Updated: May 5, 2025
When he returned, luncheon was ready, but Violet was absent. He rang the bell. "Where is your mistress, Jane?" he asked the parlourmaid. The girl had no idea. Mrs. Ruff had left for the village several hours ago. Since then she had not been seen. Peter Ruff ate his luncheon alone and understood. The afternoon wore on, and at night he travelled up to London.
The parlourmaid, in a negligence of attire indicating that no man was left alive in the house, waited at the door of the study to learn whether or not Miss Moze was in. "You'll have to see him," said Miss Ingate firmly. "It'll be all right. I've known him all my life. He's a very nice man."
Who is it?" "I'll ask, sir." "No, don't bother." "They have taken the car to Howards End," said the parlourmaid to Leonard. He thanked her, and asked whereabouts that place was. "You appear to want to know a good deal," she remarked. But Margaret had forbidden her to be mysterious. She told him against her better judgment that Howards End was in Hertfordshire. "Is it a village, please?" "Village!
I became as anxious as a parlourmaid at a keyhole to know what Madame would have to say to this twenty-stone husband, and, what particular terms of endearment he would choose for his reply.
Active in mind, too. But I'm afraid you won't be able to get into touch with him. He's almost stone-deaf, poor fellow almost stone-deaf now. He changed the subject, and I felt I must be careful not to seem interested in Swinburne exclusively. I spoke of 'Aylwin. The parlourmaid brought in the hot dishes. The great moment was at hand. Nor was I disappointed.
It had filled his mind, subconsciously, ever since he had slipped quickly in front of his brother Jack to open the front door to Mrs. Crofton, a couple of hours ago. Mrs. Crofton was very much of a town lady, and she had actually been accompanied, during her short progress through the dark village, by her parlourmaid.
But how had anyone gained admission? All the doors had been bolted on the inside. "Now, my friend," said Poirot briskly, "we will go. I should like to ask a few questions of the parlourmaid Dorcas, her name is, is it not?" We passed through Alfred Inglethorp's room, and Poirot delayed long enough to make a brief but fairly comprehensive examination of it.
After the parlourmaid had gone, and while Audrey was upbraiding her for not confessing earlier her acquaintance with Mr. Foulger, Miss Ingate added: "Only his wife has a wooden leg." Then Mr. Foulger entered. He was a shortish man of about fifty, with a paunch, but not otherwise fat; dressed like a sportsman. He trod very lightly.
Soon, after gently smiling at the parlourmaid, who was an old friend of hers because she had once been in service at the Brandons, she found herself standing, a little lost and bewildered, at the corner of Green Lane and Orange Street. Lost and bewildered because one emotion after another seemed suddenly to have seized upon her and taken her captive.
Knox," she extended one white hand in the direction of Colonel Menendez, the fingers half closed, in a gesture which curiously reminded me of Sarah Bernhardt, "that man would notice if a parlourmaid came into the room with a shoe unbuttoned. Poof! if we love elegance it is because without it the men would never love us."
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