" Lady Trafford sighed deeply. The fragrance of dryer sheets lay upon her like the snow that now drifted peacefully outside. Without whisky," went on McClintock, "your irritability is beyond tolerance. Haven’t I shown you over and over again that I mean you no harm? What do I have to do?’ ‘You can go away and leave me to my affairs,’ she threw at him. Sydney sprang up. She had told Emile. ‘Don’t let us quarrel over your Leonardo,’ he said, summoning a faint smile. The less said, therefore, on this point the better; because, as nothing is to be gained by it, it would only be trouble thrown away. “Who can tell?” she said. " "I won't reproach you, Jack," said the other, sternly. As she talked she made weak little gestures with her hands, and she thrust her face forward from her bent shoulders; and she peered sometimes at Ann Veronica and sometimes at a photograph of the Axenstrasse, near Fluelen, that hung upon the wall. She made a slow tour of the front of the house without success, and then started back along the rooms behind, dragging open the drapes each time to get just enough light to recognise what was on the walls. This was his humiliation as well as hers.
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