I've this matter in hand now, and I tell you plainly that you will have to earn your money.

The good old Stott-Wartenheim times are over.
No work, no pay." Mr Verloc felt a queer sensation of faintness in his stout legs.

He stepped back one pace, and blew his nose loudly.
He was, in truth, startled and alarmed.

The rusty London sunshine struggling clear of the London mist shed a lukewarm brightness into the First Secretary's private room; and in the silence Mr Verloc heard against a window-pane the faint buzzing of a fly--his first fly of the year--heralding better than any number of swallows the approach of spring.

The useless fussing of that tiny energetic organism affected unpleasantly this big man threatened in his indolence.
In the pause Mr Vladimir formulated in his mind a series of disparaging remarks concerning Mr Verloc's face and figure.