On the other hand, Malfoy's sneering face kept looming up out of the darkness - this was his big chance to beat Malfoy face-to-face. He couldn't miss it.
" In a few years I promise you there won't be much youth left, " I said, trying to assume the resigned irony of men who've been around and know themselves.
Between the brandy which was smoothing out the harsh contours of remorse and Rhett's mocking but comforting words, the pale specter of Frank was receding into shadows. Perhaps Rhett was right.