i looked at his face , at the flat , conventionally good looking planes of his cheeks , at the forehead , barricading all those memories of summer country-club days , dances , cars , sandy 's breasts , calmness , ideals of rightness ; and suddenly i knew what the last order of business was ; perhaps it had been the only order of business all along ; and more importantly , i knew that his eye was the eye of a hawk and his hand was stone .