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Doyle, Arthur Conan, Sir, 1859-1930

"Uncle Bernac A Memory of the Empire"


But suddenly our conversation was interrupted by a hush in the room--
such a cold, uncomfortable hush as comes over a roomful of happy,
romping children when a grave-faced elder comes amongst them.
The chatting and the laughter died away. The sound of the rustling
cards and of the clicking counters had ceased in the other rooms.
Everyone, men and women, had risen to their feet with a constrained
expectant expression upon their faces. And there in the doorway were
the pale face and the green coat with the red cordon across the white
waistcoat.
There was no saying how he might behave upon these occasions.
Sometimes he was capable of being the merriest and most talkative of the
company, but this was rather in his consular than in his imperial days.
On the other hand he might be absolutely ferocious, with an insulting
observation for everyone with whom he came in contact. As a rule he was
between these two extremes, silent, morose, ill at ease, shooting out
curt little remarks which made everyone uncomfortable. There was always
a sigh of relief when he would pass from one room into the next.


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