“To tell you the truth,’ said Lady Hardcastle, ‘I’ve never quite understood the attraction of snow. It’s beautiful for the first hour or so, but it soon degenerates into a filthy grey slush. Then it grimes up the hem of one’s dress or freezes overnight and turns even the shortest walk into a treacherous expedition across an arctic hell.’ ‘Hell has ice now?’ I said. ‘Mine does,’ she replied. ‘And bagpipes.”
