He sat with folded arms and knitted brows, thinking intently. It was red and chapped. She heard him come in; the light burned on. He watched her, savoring her curious attention. Jack, whose clothes were covered with dust, and whose face was deathly pale from his recent exertion, looked more like a phantom than a living person. She could feel Martin’s eyes boring into her as she entered the room, her own personal Farhat.
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