Perhaps what urged her interest in the young man's direction was the dead whiteness of his face, the puffed eyelids and the bloodshot whites. Martin’s eyes seemed about to pop out of his head. He walked through a wide open archway, curtained with deep-blue curtains, into the apartment that served as a reception-room. “I have waited for this,” he said, and stood quite still, looking at her until the silence became oppressive.
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