Middle children weep longer than their brothers and sisters. Over her
mother's shoulder, stilling her pains and her injured pride, Jackie
Lacon watched the party leave. First, two men she had not seen before:
one tall, one short and dark. They drove off in a small green van. No
one waved to them, she noticed, or even said goodbye. Next, her father
left in his own car; lastly a blond, good-looking man and a short fat
one in an enormous overcoat like a pony blanket made their way to a
sports car parked under the beech trees. For a moment she really thought
there must be something wrong with the fat one, he followed so slowly
and so painfully. Then, seeing the handsome man hold the car door for
him, he seemed to wake, and hurried forward with a lumpy skip.
Unaccountably, this gesture upset her afresh. A storm of sorrow seized
her and her mother could not console her.
-- John le Carré. Tinker Tailor Soldier Spy (novel, 1974),
chapter 10.