He heard only the chill sigh of the air through the leafless branches.
Mr.Dangerfield had not his key with him; and he beat an unnecessarily loud and long tattoo upon his door, and before it could possibly have been answered, he thundered a second through the passages.
Mrs.Jukes knew the meaning of that harsh and rabid summons.

'There was something on the master's mind.' His anxieties never depressed him as they did other men, but strung up his energies to a point of mental tension and exasperation which made him terrible to his domestics.

It was not his acts--his conduct was always under control, but chiefly his looks, and accents, and an influence that seemed to take possession of him at such times that rendered him undefinably formidable to his servants.
'Ha!--mighty obleeging (he so pronounced the word)--let in at last--cold outside, Ma'am.

You've let out the fire I suppose ?' His tones were like the bark of a wolf, and there was a devilish smirk in his white face, as he made her a mock salutation, and glided into his parlour.

The fire was bright enough, however, as Mrs.Jukes was much relieved to see; and dropping a courtesy she enquired whether he would like a dish of tea, or anything?
'No, Ma'am!' he snarled.
'Would he like his dressing-gown and slippers ?' 'No, Ma'am,' again.