OsKar Castlereagh, a man well past the middle age, sat on a large sofa with his wife, Jeanie. Around them were gathered men from his profession, all musicians, most of them talented and a few hanging on to still cherished illusions. Castlereagh was obviously the prominent figure of the group, according to the number of eyes focused upon him. He sat forward with his elbows propped upon his knees, holding a cigarette between two long slender fingers. A spiral cloud of smoke was drifting up past his face to the ceiling making his eyes squint. His narrowed eyes made one feel that he was looking through the surface of a face and settling his eyes last upon the inner carefully concealed thoughts.
"Speak Of The Devil,"
Manuscripts: Vol. 13
, Article 10.
Available at: http://digitalcommons.butler.edu/manuscripts/vol13/iss4/10