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Updated: May 23, 2025
Under Observation: For about three weeks the patient showed a variable stupor. She would lie with a mask-like face inaccessible, cataleptic, drooling saliva, often with her mouth open. When taken up, she was usually perfectly flaccid, but once she let herself slide on the floor after she had stood immobile at the window.
The girl had lowered her blue veil, and tied it mask-like over her face, in a way that women often do, but which Cora never did, except on this occasion, when she wished to evade the sure to be offered kiss of Rose Stillwater.
Could this fantastically tall, stooping figure before her be that of the President of the United States? She stopped, as from the shock he gave her. The lean, yellow face with the mask-like lines all up and down, the unkempt, tousled hair, the beard why, he was a hundred times more ridiculous than his caricatures.
To her, meditating, there entered Pugsy Maloney, the guardian of the gate of this shrine of Peace, a nonchalant youth of about fifteen, with a freckled, mask-like face, the expression of which never varied, bearing in his arms a cat. The cat was struggling violently, but he appeared quite unconscious of it. Its existence did not seem to occur to him. "Say!" said Pugsy. Betty was fond of cats.
Then the dark lashes fell and veiled the shining glance. Her face was once more indifferent and mask-like. As a matter of fact, Nancy was avidly interested in Glenn, in whom for the first time she encountered youth. He came like a fresh breeze into an existence in which she stifled.
The warm, pitying look on his face ebbed away, hardened into his old, mask-like absence of expression. "No," he said quietly, "it would only be the beginning. Lord God, but this has been a day." He whirled about with a quick gesture of his hands, a harsh, raspy laugh that was very near a sob, and left her.
His lean, rather sallow face relaxed for an instant into a smile during the process of introduction, and then resumed a mask-like gravity. He up-ended a suit-case, sat down and silently eyed the others in turn. "What have you two been doing?" asked the King's Messenger. "Been on leave?" "Yes," replied Thorogood. "I met Mouldy this morning, and we had a day in town together." "Brave man!
The dead stillness of the group, hardly breathing; the mask-like features of Lorenzo Tonti, the suffused features and protuberant eyes of Fletcher, the high cheek bones of Stanislav Vasiliewski, the somber look of former Police Commissioner McGuire, upon whose normally smiling countenance gloom sat so ill.
He was in no mood for business. Instead he gazed long and thoughtfully out of his office window. What somber, vengeful thoughts were teeming through his brain would be hard to tell, his mask-like face betrayed nothing. His sphinx-like expression was a blank. In this way half an hour and more passed.
The second movement began, a movement hurrying, dissatisfied, rising in appeal and aspiration, beaten back; turning upon itself continually, continually to rise again, baffled, frustrated, yet indomitable. And as Imogen listened her features took on a mask-like look of gloom. How alone she was among them all.
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