He read them grimly.

Once he paused as he read his mother's letter, and took a gulp of plain brandy.

There was something very like a sneer on his face when he finished reading.

He read the hollowness of the sympathy extended to him; he understood the far from adroit references to Lady Agnes Martling.

He was very bitter.
He opened no more letters, but took up the Morning Post again, and read it slowly through.