The young officer sat in front, his hat perfectly straight. "What in the world is it?" he asked. "I'm never satisfied with a first attempt. “You silly fool,” he said. You say I know nothing. " Trenchard, meanwhile, whose gaze was fixed upon the boy, became livid as death, but he moved not a muscle. In his muscular pudgy hand was a photograph, frayed at the corners, soiled from the contact of many hands: the portrait of a youth of eighteen.
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