I can vividly recall, too, the old Major's face as he looked up with a sarcastic remark, but with a shade of anxiety in his bloodshot eyes.

He was leaning back in a green-cushioned chair, and his ghastly yellow complexion seemed to me more noticeable than usual--his scanty grey hair and whiskers, the lines of pain so plainly visible in his face, impressed me curiously.

I think I had never before realised what a wreck of a man he was--how utterly dependent on others.
Lawrence, who, to do him justice, had a good deal of tact, and who, I believe, cared for his brother as much as he was capable of caring for any one but himself, repeated a good story with which he had been enlivening the Major, and I did what I could to keep up the talk.
Derrick meanwhile put away the chessmen, and lighted the Major's candle.
He even managed to force up a laugh at Lawrence's story, and, as he helped his father out of the room, I think I was the only one who noticed the look of tired endurance in his eyes..