DarqueDante/test2 · Datasets at Hugging Face

text stringlengths 0 74

He had risen from his chair and was standing between the parted
blinds gazing down into the dull neutral-tinted London street.
Looking over his shoulder, I saw that on the pavement opposite there
stood a large woman with a heavy fur boa round her neck, and a large
curling red feather in a broad-brimmed hat which was tilted in a
coquettish Duchess of Devonshire fashion over her ear. From under
this great panoply she peeped up in a nervous, hesitating fashion at
our windows, while her body oscillated backward and forward, and her
fingers fidgeted with her glove buttons. Suddenly, with a plunge, as
of the swimmer who leaves the bank, she hurried across the road, and
we heard the sharp clang of the bell.

"I have seen those symptoms before," said Holmes, throwing his
cigarette into the fire. "Oscillation upon the pavement always means
an affaire de coeur. She would like advice, but is not sure that the
matter is not too delicate for communication. And yet even here we
may discriminate. When a woman has been seriously wronged by a man
she no longer oscillates, and the usual symptom is a broken bell
wire. Here we may take it that there is a love matter, but that the
maiden is not so much angry as perplexed, or grieved. But here she
comes in person to resolve our doubts."

As he spoke there was a tap at the door, and the boy in buttons
entered to announce Miss Mary Sutherland, while the lady herself
loomed behind his small black figure like a full-sailed merchant-man
behind a tiny pilot boat. Sherlock Holmes welcomed her with the easy
courtesy for which he was remarkable, and, having closed the door and
bowed her into an armchair, he looked her over in the minute and yet
abstracted fashion which was peculiar to him.

"Do you not find," he said, "that with your short sight it is a
little trying to do so much typewriting?"

"I did at first," she answered, "but now I know where the letters are
without looking." Then, suddenly realising the full purport of his
words, she gave a violent start and looked up, with fear and
astonishment upon her broad, good-humoured face. "You've heard about
me, Mr. Holmes," she cried, "else how could you know all that?"

"Never mind," said Holmes, laughing; "it is my business to know
things. Perhaps I have trained myself to see what others overlook. If
not, why should you come to consult me?"

"I came to you, sir, because I heard of you from Mrs. Etherege, whose
husband you found so easy when the police and everyone had given him
up for dead. Oh, Mr. Holmes, I wish you would do as much for me. I'm
not rich, but still I have a hundred a year in my own right, besides
the little that I make by the machine, and I would give it all to
know what has become of Mr. Hosmer Angel."

"Why did you come away to consult me in such a hurry?" asked Sherlock
Holmes, with his finger-tips together and his eyes to the ceiling.

Again a startled look came over the somewhat vacuous face of Miss
Mary Sutherland. "Yes, I did bang out of the house," she said, "for
it made me angry to see the easy way in which Mr. Windibank--that is,
my father--took it all. He would not go to the police, and he would
not go to you, and so at last, as he would do nothing and kept on
saying that there was no harm done, it made me mad, and I just on
with my things and came right away to you."

"Your father," said Holmes, "your stepfather, surely, since the name
is different."

"Yes, my stepfather. I call him father, though it sounds funny, too,
for he is only five years and two months older than myself."

"And your mother is alive?"

"Oh, yes, mother is alive and well. I wasn't best pleased, Mr.
Holmes, when she married again so soon after father's death, and a
man who was nearly fifteen years younger than herself. Father was a
plumber in the Tottenham Court Road, and he left a tidy business
behind him, which mother carried on with Mr. Hardy, the foreman; but
when Mr. Windibank came he made her sell the business, for he was
very superior, being a traveller in wines. They got £4700 for the
goodwill and interest, which wasn't near as much as father could have
got if he had been alive."

I had expected to see Sherlock Holmes impatient under this rambling
and inconsequential narrative, but, on the contrary, he had listened
with the greatest concentration of attention.

"Your own little income," he asked, "does it come out of the
business?"

"Oh, no, sir. It is quite separate and was left me by my uncle Ned in
Auckland. It is in New Zealand stock, paying 4½ per cent. Two
thousand five hundred pounds was the amount, but I can only touch the
interest."

"You interest me extremely," said Holmes. "And since you draw so
large a sum as a hundred a year, with what you earn into the bargain,
you no doubt travel a little and indulge yourself in every way. I
believe that a single lady can get on very nicely upon an income of
about £60."

"I could do with much less than that, Mr. Holmes, but you understand
that as long as I live at home I don't wish to be a burden to them,

He had risen from his chair and was standing between the parted

blinds gazing down into the dull neutral-tinted London street.

Looking over his shoulder, I saw that on the pavement opposite there

stood a large woman with a heavy fur boa round her neck, and a large

curling red feather in a broad-brimmed hat which was tilted in a

coquettish Duchess of Devonshire fashion over her ear. From under

this great panoply she peeped up in a nervous, hesitating fashion at

our windows, while her body oscillated backward and forward, and her

fingers fidgeted with her glove buttons. Suddenly, with a plunge, as

of the swimmer who leaves the bank, she hurried across the road, and

we heard the sharp clang of the bell.

"I have seen those symptoms before," said Holmes, throwing his

cigarette into the fire. "Oscillation upon the pavement always means

an affaire de coeur. She would like advice, but is not sure that the

matter is not too delicate for communication. And yet even here we

may discriminate. When a woman has been seriously wronged by a man

she no longer oscillates, and the usual symptom is a broken bell

wire. Here we may take it that there is a love matter, but that the

maiden is not so much angry as perplexed, or grieved. But here she

comes in person to resolve our doubts."

As he spoke there was a tap at the door, and the boy in buttons

entered to announce Miss Mary Sutherland, while the lady herself

loomed behind his small black figure like a full-sailed merchant-man

behind a tiny pilot boat. Sherlock Holmes welcomed her with the easy

courtesy for which he was remarkable, and, having closed the door and

bowed her into an armchair, he looked her over in the minute and yet

abstracted fashion which was peculiar to him.

"Do you not find," he said, "that with your short sight it is a

little trying to do so much typewriting?"

"I did at first," she answered, "but now I know where the letters are

without looking." Then, suddenly realising the full purport of his

words, she gave a violent start and looked up, with fear and

astonishment upon her broad, good-humoured face. "You've heard about

me, Mr. Holmes," she cried, "else how could you know all that?"

"Never mind," said Holmes, laughing; "it is my business to know

things. Perhaps I have trained myself to see what others overlook. If

not, why should you come to consult me?"

"I came to you, sir, because I heard of you from Mrs. Etherege, whose

husband you found so easy when the police and everyone had given him

up for dead. Oh, Mr. Holmes, I wish you would do as much for me. I'm

not rich, but still I have a hundred a year in my own right, besides

the little that I make by the machine, and I would give it all to

know what has become of Mr. Hosmer Angel."

"Why did you come away to consult me in such a hurry?" asked Sherlock

Holmes, with his finger-tips together and his eyes to the ceiling.

Again a startled look came over the somewhat vacuous face of Miss

Mary Sutherland. "Yes, I did bang out of the house," she said, "for

it made me angry to see the easy way in which Mr. Windibank--that is,

my father--took it all. He would not go to the police, and he would

not go to you, and so at last, as he would do nothing and kept on

saying that there was no harm done, it made me mad, and I just on

with my things and came right away to you."

"Your father," said Holmes, "your stepfather, surely, since the name

is different."

"Yes, my stepfather. I call him father, though it sounds funny, too,

for he is only five years and two months older than myself."

"And your mother is alive?"

"Oh, yes, mother is alive and well. I wasn't best pleased, Mr.

Holmes, when she married again so soon after father's death, and a

man who was nearly fifteen years younger than herself. Father was a

plumber in the Tottenham Court Road, and he left a tidy business

behind him, which mother carried on with Mr. Hardy, the foreman; but

when Mr. Windibank came he made her sell the business, for he was

very superior, being a traveller in wines. They got £4700 for the

goodwill and interest, which wasn't near as much as father could have

got if he had been alive."

I had expected to see Sherlock Holmes impatient under this rambling

and inconsequential narrative, but, on the contrary, he had listened

with the greatest concentration of attention.

"Your own little income," he asked, "does it come out of the

business?"

"Oh, no, sir. It is quite separate and was left me by my uncle Ned in

Auckland. It is in New Zealand stock, paying 4½ per cent. Two

thousand five hundred pounds was the amount, but I can only touch the

interest."

"You interest me extremely," said Holmes. "And since you draw so

large a sum as a hundred a year, with what you earn into the bargain,

you no doubt travel a little and indulge yourself in every way. I

believe that a single lady can get on very nicely upon an income of

about £60."

"I could do with much less than that, Mr. Holmes, but you understand

that as long as I live at home I don't wish to be a burden to them,