The Murder of Roger Ackroyd / Убийство Роджера Экройда

Just then Mrs Ackroyd rustled in, full of apologies for being late.

I am sorry to say I detest Mrs Ackroyd. She is all chains and teeth and bones. A most unpleasant woman. She has small pale flinty blue eyes, and however gushing her words may be, those eyes of hers always remain coldly speculative.

I went across to her, leaving Flora by the window. She gave me a handful of assorted knuckles and rings to squeeze, and began talking volubly.

Had I heard about flora’s engagement? So suitable in every way. The dear young things had fallen in love at first sight. Such a perfect pair, he so dark and she so fair.

‘I can’t tell you, my dear dr Sheppard, the relief to a mother’s heart.’

Mrs Ackroyd sighed – a tribute to her mother’s heart, whilst her eyes remained shrewdly observant of me.

‘I was wondering. you are such an old friend of dear roger’s. We know how much he trusts to your judgment. So difficult for me – in my position as poor Cecil’s widow. But there are so many tiresome things – settlements, you know – all that. I fully believe that roger intends to make settlements upon dear Flora, but, as you know, he is just a leetle peculiar about money. Very usual, I’ve heard, amongst men who are captains of industry. I wondered, you know, if you could just sound him on the subject? flora is so fond of you. We feel you are quite an old friend, although we have only really known you just over two years.’