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Updated: May 4, 2025
Mr Villiers was a frequent customer at the Wattle Tree, and was in the back parlour drinking brandy and water and talking to old Twexby on the day that Pierre arrived. The dumb man came into the bar out of the dusty road, and, leaning over the counter, pushed a letter under Miss Twexby's nose. 'Bills? queried that damsel, sharply.
While admiring himself in the glass he caught sight of the bunch of flowers given to him by Miss Twexby, and, taking them from his coat, he turned round to Pierre, who stood watching him in his usual sullen manner. 'Do you see these? he asked, touching the white blossoms with the cigarette he held between his fingers. Pierre intimated that he did.
'Half-past nine. Here was another facer for Slivers as it could not have been Pierre. 'Did he go to bed? 'Straight. 'And did not leave the house again? 'Of course not, retorted Miss Twexby, impatiently; 'do you think I'm a fool no one goes either in or out of this house without my knowing it.
'Well, she said to herself, as she returned to the bar, 'if that isn't a case of love at first sight, my name ain't Martha Twexby, and she sat down in the bar with her nerves all of a flutter, as she afterwards told a female friend who dropped in sometimes for a friendly cup of tea.
They parted at the railway crossing, and Kitty went gaily up the white dusty road, while M. Vandeloup strolled leisurely along the street on his way to the Wattle Tree Hotel. When he arrived he found that Pierre's box had come, and was placed outside his door, as no one had been brave enough to venture inside, although Miss Twexby assured them he was unarmed showing the knife as a proof.
'It's very hot, ain't it, observed Miss Twexby, affably, as she cut up the lemon; 'par's gone to sleep in the other room, jerking her head in the direction of the parlour, 'but Mr Villiers went out in all the heat, and it ain't no wonder if he gets a sunstroke.
Pierre lay down again on the bed, and turning his face to the wall fell fast asleep, while M. Vandeloup, humming a merry tune, walked gaily out of the room to the bar, and asked Miss Twexby for another drink. 'Brandy and soda this time, please, he said, lazily lighting another cigarette; 'this heat is so enervating, and I'm going to walk up to Black Hill.
Miss Twexby giggled again, and her nose grew a shade redder at the pleasure of being bantered by this handsome young man. 'You're a furriner, she said, shortly; 'I knew you were, she went on triumphantly as he nodded, 'you talk well enough, but there's something wrong about the way you pronounces your words.
'Oh, so you're dumb, are you, said Miss Twexby, folding up the letter and looking complacently at Pierre. 'I wish there were a few more men the same way; then, perhaps, we'd have less chat.
The Wattle Tree was such a quiet haven of rest, and kept such good liquor, that once a man discovered it he always came back again; so Mr Twexby did a very comfortable trade.
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