"I hope to-morrow will be a fine day, Lane.".
"It never is, sir."
"Lane, you're a perfect pessimist."
"I do my best to give satisfaction, sir."
And the weather is glorious. The air is still, fresh, and transparent.
The night is dark, but one can see the whole village with its white roofs and coils of smoke coming from the chimneys, the trees silvered with hoar frost, the snowdrifts. The whole sky spangled with gay twinkling stars, and the Milky Way is as distinct as though it had been washed and rubbed with snow for a holiday...
— Did you sleep well, Mr. Connors?
— I slept alone, Mrs. Lancaster.
— Would you like some coffee?
— I don't suppose there's any possibility of getting an espresso or Cappuccino this morning, is there?
— Oh, I really don't know, um...
— How to spell espresso or Cappuccino. This looks fine.
— I hope you enjoy the festivities.
— Oh, yeah, I'm sure I'm going to...
— There's talk of a blizzard.
— Well, we may catch a break and that blizzard's gonna blow right by us. All of this moisture coming up out of the south by midday is probably gonna push on to the east of us. And at high altitudes it's gonna crystallise and give us what we call snow. Probably be some accumulation. But here in Punxsutawney, our high's gonna get up to about 30 today, teens tonight. Chance of precipitation, about 20 percent today, 20 percent tomorrow. Did you want to talk about the weather or were you just making chitchat?
— Chitchat...
It's all right, boy. It's just a bit of snow. In June.