From his wallet he brought forth a yellow letter. ’ ‘How dare you?’ roared the general. His name is John. “What have you done to yourself?” he muttered. “You’ll get me to allude to it, but you’d have to torture me to admit it. He could not contain his satisfaction, but chuckled, and rubbed his hands with delight. You will survive, mark my words. After all, the Wastrel was in luck: he was alone. ‘May I, indeed? I’ll take you up on that.
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