The porter, the brakeman and Vandover's father very carefully lifted his mother from the car.

She was lying back on pillows in a long steamer chair.

The three men let the chair slowly down, the brakeman went away, but the porter remained, taking off his cap and wiping his forehead with the back of his left hand, which in turn he wiped against the pink palm of his right.

The other train, the train to which they were to change, had not yet arrived.

It was rather still; at the far end of the depot a locomotive, sitting back on its motionless drivers like some huge sphinx crouching along the rails, was steaming quietly, drawing long breaths.