Sitting alone at his window-seat, he was like an old boulevardier fallen on hard times, waspish, inward, slothful.
How else explain the seeming slowness with which we were falling — the seeming leisureness with which the wall drifted up past us?
As they passed Shack he reached out and gave Helen a massive, full-handed pinch on the buttock and winked at me with relaxed, expansive good cheer.
Each drinks the juice that glads the heart of man.
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