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Since I do not speak much French, I could only say to the man nearest me, a sinister fellow in a blue smock with a brown stockingcap on his head, "C'est un disgrace, ça; je demandez le pourquoi." He looked at me for a baffled moment before calling, "Jean, Jean!" Jean was even more illfavored, having a scar across his mouth which gave him an artificial harelip. However, he spoke English of a kind.
"Arent you Brother Paul?" "Satan, Satan," he repeated. I'm sure it could have been nothing but one of those flashes of intuition for which successful executives are noted which caused me to pick this man in spite of his absurd ranting and illfavored appearance. Not intuition really, but an ability to evaluate and classify personalities instantly.
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