Without waking his wife, he got out of bed and pulled the blind a little to one side.

It was snowing heavily, and, as is the way when it snows, even in London, everything was strangely, curiously still.

After he had dressed he went out into the passage.
As he had at once dreaded and hoped, their newspaper was already lying on the mat.

It was probably the sound of its being pushed through the letter-box which had waked him from his unrestful sleep.
He picked the paper up and went into the sitting-room then, shutting the door behind him carefully, he spread the newspaper wide open on the table, and bent over it.
As Bunting at last looked up and straightened himself, an expression of intense relief shone upon his stolid face.

The item of news he had felt certain would be printed in big type on the middle sheet was not there..