He looked down at the limp, smooth skins in his hand, and sat up stiffly.

From the gloves to Warrington and back again to the gloves, his gaze traveled.
With an impulse rather mechanical he raised the gloves to his nose.
Quickly he dropped them on the desk, took up the photograph, rose and replaced it on the mantel.

Hearing him, Warrington turned.
"No, Jack, I doubt if I shall ever be lucky enough to find the one woman.

I've been so busy that I've never had time to hunt for happiness.

And those who hunt for it never find it, and those who wait for it can not see it standing at their side." Bennington wandered about, from object to object.