But the general was turning on him, the hint of emotion wiped from his lined features. The Master listened, with becoming attention, to the narrative, and, at its conclusion, shook his head gravely, applied his thumb to the side of his nose, and, twirling his fingers significantly, winked at his phlegmatic companion. “Don’t worry, Julian. Not fit to be dust on your boots. But not today. I don’t want to stop your singing. He noticed the two chairs close together.
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