Each touch on the discs was a caress, and while the record played he hovered over it and dreamed in some heaven of music all his own.
During this time Captain West lay back and smoked a cigar.

His face was expressionless, and he seemed very far away, untouched by the music.

I almost doubted that he heard it.

He made no remarks between whiles, betrayed no sign of approbation or displeasure.

He seemed preternaturally serene, preternaturally remote.