Arthur's face was as dark as if he had been pulled out of a coal heap.
The copy of the Morning Paper in his hand was clenched tightly, with the corners almost twisted into a rope.
Agares naturally noticed this, but he just acted like a cat seeing a door crack; the more he saw someone trying to close it, the more he wanted to stick his paw in.
"Oh my, that expression of yours!" Agares slapped his thigh, as if he had seen a rare treasure: "I really miss those days in St. Petersburg. Back then, whenever you had a problem, the entire embassy, from the third floor to the first, had to share your disgruntlement. It's a pity that..."
Before he finished speaking, the carriage suddenly jolted violently.
Arthur steadied the handrail with one hand, instinctively protecting the newspaper with the other.
