He's always dining out,
but he eats nothing because the Pole is feeding on the Venetian all day."
Then he told her about the miraculous birth, the whisky and Apollinaris,
and concluded, "Oh, he'll amuse you vastly. Stay where you are. I'll net
him at the top."
Presently after she saw the process. It consisted in violent effort on
Chevenix's part, languid attention from the other. Morosine dreamed over
the speaker as if he were a lost soul. Then, his consideration being
caught, he looked about him, and presently fixed upon her his melancholy
eyes. She felt a little shiver, the sensation of goose-flesh in the spine
--not unpleasantly. It was as if a light wind had ruffled her blood.
Shortly afterwards Morosine was bowing before her. In this, perhaps, he
betrayed himself; his hat covered his heart, he inclined from the hips,
and his head bent with his body. An Englishman bows with the head only,
and does not nowadays carry his hat upstairs.
He began to talk quietly and at once, and maintained a perfectly even flow
of comment, reflection, anecdote, reminiscence, and sudden, flashing turns
of inference. He seemed always to be searching after general principles,
cosmic laws, and to be always jumping at them, testing them, finding them
not comprehensive enough, and letting them drift behind him as he pursued
his search.
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