"Amiable personality," I observed seeing Fyne on the point of falling into a brown study.

But I could not help adding with meaning: "He hadn't the gift of prophecy though." Fyne got up suddenly with a muttered "No, evidently not." He was gloomy, hesitating.

I supposed that he would not wish to play chess that afternoon.

This would dispense me from leaving my rooms on a day much too fine to be wasted in walking exercise.

And I was disappointed when picking up his cap he intimated to me his hope of seeing me at the cottage about four o'clock--as usual.
"It wouldn't be as usual." I put a particular stress on that remark.