Then she sat watching the play, sometimes offering a helpful suggestion, sometimes letting her attention wander to the smoothly shining arms she had folded across her knees just below the edge of the table. Kevin Chen, Martin’s father, was equally stately, his dark brown eyes bright with the fire of extreme intelligence. Then she stood up and looked around the room. Apparently he had projected beyond his table some hypnotic thought, for it had held him all through the dining hour. Norris, wringing her hands and wepping, the unfortunate lady was placed upon a couch. 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. Kneebone he's not here.
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