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"The kind of news to which I fear we shall have to grow accustomed," she said acidly. "It appears that Nan is getting herself talked about in connection with that artist who is painting her portrait." By the time she had finished speaking Roger's face was like a thundercloud. "What do you mean? What does Isobel say?" he demanded.
When I was a small boy at school in the early forties, during the Millerite excitement about the approaching end of all mundane things, I remember, on the day when the momentous event was expected to take place, how the larger school-girls were thrown into a great state of alarm and agitation by a thundercloud that let down a curtain of rain, blotting out the mountain on the opposite side of the valley.
Joe's head was thrust forward between his burly shoulders and his face lowered like a thundercloud. Sam, silent and tense, smiled and paraded on his toes. "Why don't you start something, Jeffries?" asked Sam. Joe, with a grunt of rage, leaped at him with a sledge-hammer swing that would have ended the fight had it landed. Sam ducked and came up on the other side.
When I last saw Piacenza, it had been raining all day; and ere sundown a clearing had come from the Alps, followed by fresh threatenings of thunderstorms. The air was very liquid. There was a tract of yellow sunset sky to westward, a faint new moon half swathed in mist above, and over all the north a huge towered thundercloud kept flashing distant lightnings.
Lorrimer looked round him desperately, and pushed his hat back from his forehead. Ideala smiled. It was so like him to forget he had it on. Outside a heavy thundercloud gathered and darkened the room. Presently big drops of rain splashed against the window, and it began to lighten.
We hurried so as to finish it before dinner. I suppose that is the reason the paint got splashed around a little." Jim's temper had manifestly been somewhat ruffled by the necessity of repeating the soap and water process. He frowned like a thundercloud. Mrs. Gordon, however, always had great consideration for a hungry boy.
He had climbed through the entrance lock ten minutes before, shaking snow off his cloak and wheezing like a boiler about to explode; now he faced the patrol ship's crew like a small but ominous black thundercloud.
So peaceful, however, was the long sweep of countryside, mellowed by the golden light of the setting sun, with a score of village steeples and manor-houses peeping out from amongst the woods, that it was hard to think that the thundercloud of war was really lowering over that fair valley, and that at any instant the lightning might break from it.
Felix came in, the light of excitement still on his face, eager to tell the tale. He began to recount what they had heard, so carried away that he never noticed the gathering thundercloud upon his brother's face. The plains, the mountains, the shining rivers running to the sea he seemed to conjure up all of them as he told the story, but Ralph's face never changed.
"Indeed I can't, unless you would like me to sit out with the coachman." There was something in this, a tone of loudness, a touch of what he called to himself vulgarity, which made him very angry. So he turned away from her, and looked as black as a thundercloud. "You must know, Plantagenet," she went on, "that it is impossible for three women dressed to go out in one carriage.
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