She had asked to borrow his pencil out of dire necessity. Her face reminded him of a delicate unglazed porcelain cup, filled with blond wine. ‘Soldier of fortune. You have not forgotten——” “I have forgotten nothing?” he answered, enigmatically. Was the man debating whether or no to tell the truth? A grimace played about Valade’s mouth and the general waited, maintaining his own rigid pose. How dreary it all looks.
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