Jean Francois Millet Harvesters Resting painting

Jean Francois Millet Harvesters Resting paintingJean Francois Millet Garden paintingJean Francois Millet Fishermen painting
sat on the bunk in low spirits and dozed a little. Presently the racket subsided and Sebastian called: ‘I say, Charles, are you there?’
‘Here I am.’
‘This is the hell of a Business.’
‘Can’t we get bail or something?’
Mulcaster seemed to have fallen asleep.
‘I tell you the man - Rex Mottram. He’d be in his element here.’ We had some difficulty in getting in touch with him; it was half an hour before the policeman in charge answered my bell. At last he consented, rather sceptically, to send a telephone message to the hotel where the ball was being held. There was another long delay and then our prison doors were opened.
Seeping through the squalid air of the police station, the sour smell of dirt and disinfectant, came the sweet, rich smoke of a Havana cigar - of two Havana cigars, for the sergeant in charge was smoking also.