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He went into the pantry hastily and put on his overcoat. The others, taken aback by his rude speech, could find nothing to say. Aunt Kate wrinkled her brows and made signs to the others to drop the subject. Mr D'Arcy stood swathing his neck carefully and frowning.
—It's the weather, said Aunt Julia, after a pause.
—Yes, everybody has colds, said Aunt Kate readily, everybody.
—They say, said Mary Jane, we haven't had snow like it for thirty years; and I read this morning in the newspapers that the snow is general all over Ireland.
—I love the look of snow, said Aunt Julia sadly.
—So do I, said Miss O'Callaghan. I think Christmas is never really Christmas unless we have the snow on the ground.
—But poor Mr D'Arcy doesn't like the snow, said Aunt Kate, smiling.
James Joyce The Dead