After a long fifteen seconds, she pulled her head back into the seat, looking at his face from the close angle, his nose huge and out of perspective, his eyes like round blue pearls. Courtlaw, who was sitting by the bedside, bent over him. He would sit in his inner office and compose conversations with her, penetrating, illuminating, and nearly conclusive—conversations that never proved to be of the slightest use at all with her when he met her face to face. He knew not how to act, urged as he was in two directions. Earles strode into the waiting-room.
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