"Here, you've got a cat here," he said in an injured voice, withdrawing
his foot nervously as he felt it squeezing into the soft, furry body.
"Several," said old Jolyon, looking at one face and another; "I trod on
one just now."
A silence followed.
Then Mrs. Small, twisting her fingers and gazing round with 'pathetic
calm', asked: "And how is dear June?"
A twinkle of humour shot through the sternness of old Jolyon's eyes.
Extraordinary old woman, Juley! No one quite like her for saying the
wrong thing!
"Bad!" he said; "London don't agree with her--too many people about, too
much clatter and chatter by half." He laid emphasis on the words, and
again looked James in the face.
Nobody spoke.
A feeling of its being too dangerous to take a step in any direction, or
hazard any remark, had fallen on them all. Something of the sense of the
impending, that comes over the spectator of a Greek tragedy, had entered
that upholstered room, filled with those white-haired, frock-coated
old men, and fashionably attired women, who were all of the same blood,
between all of whom existed an unseizable resemblance.
Not that they were conscious of it--the visits of such fateful, bitter
spirits are only felt.
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