"And, besides, it looked as if it might be a bit of a lark.
He's a very peculiar chap."
"Peculiar?"
"For one thing, he's got the largest moustaches of any man I ever saw.
And there's something up with his left eye. And then I think he's a bit
mad."
"Mad?"
"Well, touched. He's got a notion about building a funny sort of a house
for himself on a plot of land at Bleakridge. It appears he's fond of
living alone, and he's collected all kind of dodges for doing without
servants and still being comfortable."
"Ay! But he's right there!" breathed Mrs Machin in deep sympathy. As she
said about once a week, "She never could abide the idea of servants."
"He's not married, then?" she added.
"He told me he'd been a widower three times, but he'd never had any
children," said Denry.
"Bless us!" murmured Mrs Machin.
Denry was the one person in the town who enjoyed the acquaintance and
the confidence of the thrice-widowed stranger with long moustaches. He
had descended without notice on Bursley, seen Denry (at the branch
office of the Thrift Club), and then departed. It was understood that
later he would permanently settle in the district.
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