steelman

Maybe, in a world that seems to be drowning in photos,  Steelman is mounting some quiet resistance to so much easy vision.

Smith screwed his face and squeezed a pimple on his throat; Steelman absently counted the flies on the wall.

Presently Steelman, with a yawning sigh, lay back on the pillow with his hands clasped under his head.

While Smith was gone, Steelman paced the room with a strange, worried, haunted expression.

Steelman rose, took up the pile of ten sovereigns, and placed it neatly on top of the rest.

But Steelman gave him to understand (as between themselves) that he wasn't taking on any pupils just then.