A dog--old Carlo, Mr. Rivers' pointer, as I saw in a moment--was pushing the gate with his nose, and St. John himself leant upon it with folded arms; his brow knit, his gaze, grave almost to displeasure, fixed on me.
Un cane – il vecchio Carlo del signor Rivers – spingeva il cancello col muso. Saint-John lo seguiva con le braccia incrociate e mi fissava con uno sguardo serio, quasi malcontento.