I have a letter to write." He walked away and, seating himself at a desk in the window, appeared to forget all about her, while his pen travelled swiftly over the sheet of notepaper he had drawn towards him.
Magda watched him with rebellious eyes.

Gradually, however, the rebellion died out of them, replaced by a puzzled look of interest.
There was something vaguely familiar about the man.

Had she ever seen him before?
Or was it merely one of those chance resemblances which one comes across occasionally?
That fair hair with its crisp wave, the lean, square-jawed face, above all, the dark-grey eyes with their bright, penetrating glance--why did she feel as though every detail of the face were already known to her?
She failed to place the resemblance, however, and finally, with a little sigh of fatigue, she gave up the attempt.

Her brain still felt muddled and confused from the blow she had received.

Perhaps later she would be able to think things out more clearly.
Meanwhile she lay still, her eyes resting languidly on the face that so puzzled her.