There were very few places like it, and he knew about each one of them.

He knew the kind of things Angus Macayre knew--the things most people had either never heard of or had only thought of as legends.

He talked as he wrote, and I scarcely knew when he led me into talking also.

Afterward I realized that he had asked me questions I could not help answering because his eyes were drawing me on with that quiet, deep interest.

It seemed as if he saw something in my face which made him curious.
I think I saw this expression first when we began to speak of our meeting in the railway carriage, and I mentioned the poor little fair child my heart had ached so for.
"It was such a little thing and it did so want to comfort her! Its white little clinging hands were so pathetic when they stroked and patted her," I said.