impressionist landscape painting

deportment was perfect. He received youwith tender concern as you emerged with rheumatic difficulty from a taxi or a car, guidedyou carefully up the steps and piloted you through the silently swinging doorway.
　　Inside, if this was the first time you had visitedBertram's, you felt, almost with alarm, that you hadre-entered a vanished world. Time had gone back. You were in Edwardian England once more.
　　There was, of course, central heating, but it wasnot apparent. As there had always been, in the big central lounge, there were twomagnificent coal fires; beside them big brass coal scuttles shone in the way they used toshine when Edwardian housemaids polished them, and they were filled with exactly the rightsized lumps of coal. There was a general appearance of rich red velvet and plushycosiness. The armchairs were not of this time and age. They were well above the level ofthe floor, so that