"For my part, it's only what I expected of him," observed Mrs. Anna glanced into her sister’s face, and rose to her feet. His slightest move caused her infinite pleasure. They don’t catch on to discursive interests, you see, because they are more serious, they are concentrated on the central reality of life, and a little impatient of its—its outer aspects. She often found herself absorbed by watching the tall grass undulate from the cave’s central doorway as solitary hunters prowled for buffalo and stag on the plain. The eyes, too, though large and bright, and shaded by long lashes, seemed to betoken, as hazel eyes generally do in men, a faithless and uncertain disposition. Wood, carving for his friends, and pledging the carpenter, he had his hands full. You'll do.
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