He held out his hand, the left one, and she took it in a mummified claw.

In all his life he had never kissed his grandmother, nor did he remember ever having been kissed by her.
"Glad you're back, Larry." She dropped his hand.

"The man's name is Hunt." Larry turned to the painter.

His laughing eyes could be sharp; they were penetratingly sharp now.

And so were Hunt's eyes.
Larry held out his hand, again the left.