"Nasty weather, Mr. Brandon," she said. Her voice was low and not
unpleasant; although she rolled her r's her Glebeshire accent was not very
strong, and she spoke slowly, as though she were trying to choose her
words.
"Yes," Falk answered. "Good for your trade, though."
"Dirty weather always brings them in," she said.
He did not look at her.
"Been busy to-day?"
"Nothing much this morning," she answered. "I've been away at my aunt's,
out to Borheddon, these last two days."
"Yes. I saw you were not here," he said. "Did you have a good time?"
"Middling," she answered. "My aunt's been terrible bad with bronchitis
this winter. Poor soul, it'll carry her off one of these days, I reckon."
"What's Borheddon like?" he asked.
"Nothing much. Nothing to do, you know. But I like a bit of quiet just for
a day or two. How've you been keeping, Mr. Brandon?"
"Oh, I'm all right. I shall be off to London to look for a job one of
these days."
He looked up at her suddenly, sharply, as though he wanted to catch her
interest. But she showed no emotion.
"Well, I expect this is slow for you, a little place like this.
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