It was a purse. By the intense look of him, she guessed that she had just encountered for the first time the boy genius Martin Chen. Of course, at home there would have been questions. To her mind, recalling the picture of him the night before, there had been something tragic in the grim silent manner of his tippling. “I don’t know, John. ” “It’s an unrest—a longing—What’s that?” The waiter had intervened.
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