The Master listened, with becoming attention, to the narrative, and, at its conclusion, shook his head gravely, applied his thumb to the side of his nose, and, twirling his fingers significantly, winked at his phlegmatic companion. “But we satisfy one another. ‘You can’t prove nothing. Then she spoke, with a carelessness he instantly suspected. "Do not despair, my sweet soul," said Wood, in a soothing tone. He had absorbed her in a single glance, and was now defining her as he worked. I don't know; I really don't know," she found herself repeating. Then she glanced at the cards again, over which her aunt’s many-ringed hand played, and then at the rather weak, rather plump face that surveyed its operations.
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