As I took my place at the dinner-table I realised that I was not the only tired mortal in Lady Flambard's Whitsuntide party. Mayot, who sat opposite me, had dark pouches under his eyes and that unwholesome high complexion which in a certain type of physique means that the arteries are working badly. I knew that he had been having a heavy time in the House of Commons over the Committee stage of his Factory Bill. Charles Ottery, who generally keeps himself fit with fives and tennis, and has still the figure of an athletic schoolboy, seemed nervous and out of sorts, and scarcely listened to his companion's chatter. Our hostess had her midseason look; her small delicate features were as sharp as a pin, and her blue eyes were drained of colour. But it was Arnold Tavanger farther down the table who held my attention. His heavy, sagacious face was a dead mask of exhaustion. He looked done to the world, and likely to fall asleep over his soup.
Yazar | John Buchan |
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Yayın Evi | Independently Published |
G.A. Henty Kolektif H. G. Wells Leopold Classic Library Fransızca İngilizce F Scott Fitzgerald Salzwasser-Verlag GmbH İtalyanca HACHETTE LIVRE-BNF Almanca Türkçe B. M. Bower Outlook Verlag Jack London Independently published İspanyolca Independently Published; Illustrated basım