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complain that he was being detained illegally. |
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Morgan, tired and exasperated, said sharply, ''Oh, shut up and sit down.'' Seething, Ryerson did as he was told. |
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Anna looked done in. Her face was so pale that the shadows under her eyes were like bruises against her cheeks. The fact is, Morgan thought, we are all exhausted and tempers are short. Even the usually unflappable Avery Peters looked worn out by the long flight. |
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Morgan got up and paced the room. The heavy silence was heightened by tension. He looked speculatively at Camilla Varig's empty chair, watching the access light blinking on the computer's display. Lights on the telephone console were also flashing. Someone elsewhere was answering calls to the Adviser's office. So where in the hell was Varig? |
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Ave joined him and whispered, "Where's the wicked witch?" nodding at Camilla's desk. Morgan whispered back, "Damned if I know." |
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Staff members hurried by, looking neither right nor left, coming and going, clutching papers and briefcases, civilian and military. The uniforms were an unexpected note in Cole Caidin's ordinarily purely civilian White House. Morgan looked at Anna, Ryerson. They felt the tension, too, he thought. Anna's eyes met his across the room. Are you sorry you began this crusade, Anna Akhmatova, he wondered. |
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So in my heart the past loses its power;
I'm almost free; I'll forgive anything. . . . |
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No, Morgan thought, that might be Akhmatova's way, but never her namesake's. Anna was not so irresolute. The past had lost none of its power over her. Morgan found that admirable, but, in his present state of mind, he also found it exasperating. In circumstances like those into which they had stumbled, time and events telescoped emotions. The fact is, Anna, he thought, that right now I would rather lie beside you again in Ave's raunchy bed than carry a spear in your crusade. |
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