His expression altered. My foster mother, Janine, wasn’t much fatter. She fixed her brilliant eyes upon him. But after all, what did it matter whether she had secrets or not? To him she was not a woman but a symbol; and one did not investigate the antecedents of symbols. She could smell the savory tinge of his sweat in the air. Quite!” He sat in the arm-chair and took tea, and consumed several of the extra cakes which she had sent out for and talked to her and expressed himself, looking very earnestly at her with his deep-set eyes, and carefully avoiding any crumbs on his mustache the while.
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