He takes just what cases he pleases, and a million dollars
wouldn't tempt him to touch one he doesn't care about. Watch him go out.
They say that you can almost tell the lives of the people he passes, from
the way they look at him. There isn't a crook here or in the street who
doesn't know that if Sanford Quest chose, his career would be ended."
The country cousin was impressed at last. With staring eyes and opened
mouth, he watched the man who had been sitting only a few tables away from
them push back the plate on which lay his bill and rise to his feet. One
of the chief maitres d'hotel handed him his straw hat and cane, two
waiters stood behind his chair, the manager hurried forward to see that
the way was clear for him. Yet there was nothing about the appearance of
the man himself which seemed to suggest his demanding any of these things.
He was of little over medium height, broad-shouldered, but with a body
somewhat loosely built. He wore quiet grey clothes with a black tie, a
pearl pin, and a neat coloured shirt. His complexion was a little pale,
his features well-defined, his eyes dark and penetrating but hidden
underneath rather bushy eyebrows. His deportment was quite unassuming, and
he left the place as though entirely ignorant of the impression he
created. The little cluster of chorus girls looked at him almost with awe.
Only one of them ventured to laugh into his face as though anxious to
attract his notice. Another dropped her veil significantly as he drew
near.
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