The carriage crunched over the snow-covered road, making creaky sounds. Occasionally, a mix of ice and snow splashed against the window ledge, intensifying the cold.
Mr. Blackwell, the private secretary of the British Embassy's Cultural Counsellor in Russia, sat in a corner of the carriage, wearing a dark grey long coat, with a scarf covering half of his face, trying to conceal his inner displeasure.
He gently patted away a frost flower that had fallen on his shoulder, his gaze shifting from the bleak winter scenery outside to his calm and collected superior, Sir Arthur Hastings.
Arthur was engrossed in flipping through a thick folder, occasionally muttering notes to himself and bursting out with impatient complaints to no one in particular.
