هیچ وقت به هیشکی چیزی نگو. اگه بگی دلت برا همه تنگ می شه. - J. D. Salinger

Lane himself lit a cigarette as the train pulled in. Then, like so many people, who, perhaps, ought to be issued only a very probational pass to meet trains, he tried to empty his face of all expression that might quite simply, perhaps even beautifully, reveal how he felt about the arriving person.
Franny was among the first of the girls to get off the train, from a car at the far, northern end of the platform. Lane spotted her immediately, and despite whatever it was he was trying to do with his face, his arm that shot up into the air was the whole truth.

Did you see more glass?

The facts at hand presumably speak for themselves, but a trifle more vulgarly, I suspect, than facts even usually do.