He laughed lightly. 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. She was finally dead, going to Hell. “It makes me feel,” he said, “that nothing is impossible—to have you here beside me. ‘Let me see if our minds are attuned. Charvill does not believe the general will accept them. Somehow. Considering his convictions he felt that his remark was a generous one. To-day he selected the girl, and gave her the lead-chair. ‘Idiot. ‘Sapristi. I've been hunting for this particular job for a thousand years!" She smiled a little sadly over this fine enthusiasm; for in her wisdom she had a clear perception where it would eventually end—in the veranda chair. 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.
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