When Bramham snapped his stick of charcoal she started.

Bramham was out of temper.

He squatted before the gas fire warming his hands.
Meanwhile she looked at his drawing.

He grunted.

Fanny threw on a dressing-gown and boiled a kettle.
"By God, it's bad," said Bramham.
Fanny dropped on to the floor, clasped her hands round her knees, and looked at him, her beautiful eyes--yes, beauty, flying through the room, shone there for a second.