Explore "The Dangerfield Talisman" by J.J. Connington on Textopian. Read with annotations and highlights.
For almost a week, Friocksheim had been under strain. First had come the sultry spell, days of oppressive heat which set sensitive nerves on edge and brought a certain lassitude to even the most active of the guests. The storm, though it cleared the physical atmosphere, had coincided with the creation of a fresh tension. A cloud of suspicion, heavier than the cumulus in the sky, had settled down upon the house; and as the days passed without any sign of its dispersion, its influence showed more and more clearly among the house-party. Even Douglas Fairmile's normal high spirits were unable to resist it entirely.
"Something will have to be done about this business, Conway," he complained, as they sat smoking in the Corinthian's Room in the afternoon. "It's gone on for three days now, and everyone's feeling it more or less. We're all getting off our feed, metaphorically of course."