“It’s pretty country, Julia,” I said affably.
“For thim as likes it,” said Julia. She continued to flick.
It was not encouraging. I sought in my mind for another opening, and failed to find one. So I returned to my first line of attack.
“Don’t you care for the country, Julia?”
“I do not,” said Julia, flicking.
“Did you come from a town?” I laboured.
“I did.”
My brain felt like dough. Still, I liked Julia’s face, sullen as it undoubtedly was at the moment. Her eyes looked as though, given the opportunity, they might twinkle.
“Mrs. McNab told me you came from Ireland,” I ventured. “I’ve always heard it’s such a lovely country.”
“It is, then,” said Julia. “Better than these big yalla paddocks.”