The Man with the Clubfoot by Valentine Williams
page 55 of 271 (20%)
page 55 of 271 (20%)
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The next moment it was flung back and the waiter, Karl, appeared, still in his blue apron, a bucket in either hand. He was coming to the refuse bins. Pudd'n Head Wilson's advice came into my mind; "When angry count up to four; when very angry, swear." I was not angry but scared, terribly scared, scared so that I could hear my heart pulsating in great thuds in my ears. Nevertheless, I followed the advice of the sage of Dawson's Landing and counted to myself: one, two, three, four, one, two, three, four; while my heart hammered out: Keep cool, keep cool, keep cool! And all the time I remained crouching behind the first two refuse bins nearest the door. The waiter hummed to himself the melody of his little ditty in a deep bourdon as he paused a moment at the door. Then he advanced slowly across the area. Would he stop at the refuse bins behind which I cowered? No, he passed them. The third? The fourth? No! He walked straight across the area and went to the bin beneath the stairs. |
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