‘But what is it that amuses you, Jacques?’ Kimble’s grin spread wider. Servants were passing backwards and forwards with tea and chocolate. The clouds were nearly black with rain, threatening to spill sleet in daggers and torrents. His job as a painter was wearing him down acutely as he aged. McClintock's astonishment merged into a state of mild hypnosis. They are used to me, they only cry because they have become so used to being here. It was he who saw them first coming down the room—Annabel in a wonderful white satin gown in front, and Sir John stiff, unbending, disapproving, bringing up the rear.
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