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. “Why should it matter?” he said. Her softly intertwined fingers became rigid. ’ ‘That’s right,’ agreed the militiaman, coming forward to stand before her. “I ate their mother first. Anna——” Again she stopped him, but this time it was not so easy.
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