Then, with the continual watching of her, the continual sight of her hands dancing laboriously on those keys, the noise of the typewriter at last reached the ears of his imagination.

He could hear, above the sounds of the street, that everlasting metallic tapping.
"God! What a life!" he exclaimed to himself.
If there is anything in telepathy; if thoughts, by reason of their concentration, can be borne from one mind to another utterly unconscious of them, then what followed his exclamation might well have been an example of it.

For a moment the girl buried her face in her hands.

He could see her pressing her fingers into the sockets of her eyes.

Then, sitting upright, she stretched her arms above her head.