BUDDENBROOKS
gold-brown eyes, wore that same displeased and brooding look with which he had inhaled the odour of the flowers, and that other strange, yet half-familiar odour, by his grandmother’s bier.
Ida Jungmann passed and said, “Well, little Hanno, why are you hanging about here?”
And the hump-hacked apprentice came out of the office with a telegram, and asked for the Senator.
But, both times, little Johann put his arm in its blue sailor sleeve with the anchor on it horizontally across the door; both times he shook his head and said softly, after a pause, “No one may go in. Papa is making his will.”
263
