Village books

At first Susie could not discover in what precisely their peculiarity
lay, but in a moment she found out: the eyes of most persons converge
when they look at you, but Oliver Haddo's, naturally or by a habit he
had acquired for effect, remained parallel. It gave the impression that
he looked straight through you and saw the wall beyond. It was uncanny.
But another strange thing about him was the impossibility of telling
whether he was serious. There was a mockery in that queer glance, a
sardonic smile upon the mouth, which made you hesitate how to take his
outrageous utterances. It was irritating to be uncertain whether, while
you were laughing at him, he was not really enjoying an elaborate joke at
your expense.
His presence cast an unusual chill upon the party. The French members
got up and left. Warren reeled out with O'Brien, whose uncouth sarcasms
were no match for Haddo's bitter gibes. Raggles put on his coat with the
scarlet lining and went out with the tall Jagson, who smarted still under
Haddo's insolence. The American sculptor paid his bill silently.


Pages:
43 44 45 46 47 48 49 50 51 52 53 54 55 56 57 58 59 60 61 62 63 64 65 66 67