"If you want any help of his toward a position.... Time's passing. And a
man can't be expected to bestir himself much for another man he's never
even seen."
"All right. I'll go with you."
Randolph was glad to see Cope again, whom he had not met since the half
hour in Hortense Dunton's studio. He was also glad to secure, finally, a
close and leisurely look at Lemoyne. Lemoyne took the same occasion for a
close and leisurely look at Randolph. Each viewed the other with dislike
and distrust. Each spoke, so far as might be, to Cope--or through him.
Sing-Lo, who was prepared to smile, saw few smiles elsewhere, and became
sedate, even glum.
Randolph felt a physical distaste for Lemoyne. His dark eyes were too
liquid; his person was too plump; the bit of black bristle beneath his nose
was an offense; his aura----Yet who can say anything definite about so
indefinite a thing as an aura, save that one feels it and is attracted or
repelled by it? Lemoyne, on his side, developed an equal distaste (or
repugnance) for the "little gray man"--as he called Randolph to himself
and, later, even to Cope; though Randolph, speaking justly, was exactly
neither gray nor little.
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