It was filled with gentlemen, some sitting, some standing; not only those who had taken part in the duel, but three or four others who were in possession of the secret that lay heavy on everybody's mind.
He looked about him: most of the candles had burned low in the socket; some had gone out.

The few that still flickered cast a dim, ghostly light.

The remains of the night's revel lay on the larger table and the serving tables:--a half empty silver dish of terrapin, caked over with cold grease; portion of a ham with the bone showing; empty and partly filled glasses and china cups from which the toddies and eggnog had been drunk.

The smell of rum and lemons intermingled with the smoke of snuffed-out candle wicks greeted his nostrils--a smell he remembered for years and always with a shudder.
There had evidently been a heated discussion, for his father was walking up and down the room, his face flushed, his black eyes blazing with suppressed anger, his plum-colored coat unbuttoned as if to give him more breathing space, his silk scarf slightly awry.

St.George Temple must have been the cause of his wrath, for the latter's voice was reverberating through the room as Harry stepped in.
"I tell you, Talbot, you shall not--you DARE not!" St.George was exclaiming, his voice rising in the intensity of his indignation.