“You’re not interested in politics?” he asked, almost with a note of protest. ’” “Is ‘Alcide’ still in Paris?” Ennison asked. He never asked questions; he never addressed his companions; and frequently he took off his cap and wiped his forehead. 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. But, as soon as he perceived who it was, he roused himself, and glared fiercely at the intruder from under his bent brows.
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