he smiled understandingly—much more than understandingly. it was one of those rare smiles with a quality of eternal reassurance in it, that you may come across four or five times in life. it faced—or seemed to face—the whole external world for an instant, and then concentrated on you with an irresistible prejudice in your favour. it understood you just as far as you wanted to be understood, believed in you as you would like to believe in yourself.
the great gatsby, f. scott fitzgerald kate moss by paolo roversi
Your posts seem that kind of smile to me. Thank you!
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