There was such hostility in his voice that the whole room was startled.

Poor Craven! He really was very unwell.

The sight of his tired eyes and white cheeks, the shadow of his hand quivering on his knee--here were signs that all was not as it should be.

Gone, now, at any rate, any possibility of a comfortable evening.

Craven said no more but still sat there with his head banging, his only movement the shaking of his hand.
Cardillac tried to bring ease back again, Williamson once more started his rabbits, but now there was danger in that direction.