He leaned back in a low chair, and watched her graceful movements, the play of her white hands as she bent over some wonderful machine. When he was concentrating, deep shadows formed under his gray eyes. “You are very kind to think of it,” she said, “but—don’t you think perhaps—that I had better not?” He smiled indulgently. " "I say, Kneebone," rejoined Blueskin, as he washed down an immense mouthful with another bumper, "do you recollect how nearly Mr. He was reaching wearily for some kind of buffer to his harrying conscience.
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