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I will continue my stroll as far as the entrance to the Bois de Boulogne. It will do me good." He set out. An old tune which one of his neighbors used to sing kept returning to his mind. He kept on humming it over and over again. A hot, still night had fallen over Paris. Monsieur Leras walked along the Avenue du Bois de Boulogne and watched the cabs drive by.
It was the best dinner that Monsieur Leras had had in a long time. He washed down his cheese with a small bottle of burgundy, had his after-dinner cup of coffee, a thing which he rarely took, and finally a little pony of brandy. When he had paid he felt quite youthful, even a little moved. And he said to himself: "What a fine evening!
It was the best dinner that Monsieur Leras had had in a long time. He washed down his cheese with a small bottle of burgundy, had his after-dinner cup of coffee, a thing which he rarely took, and finally a little pony of brandy. When he had paid he felt quite youthful, even a little moved. And he said to himself: "What a fine evening!
All these carriages full of tender couples, all these people intoxicated with the same idea, with the same thought, seemed to give out a disturbing, subtle emanation. At last Monsieur Leras grew a little tired of walking, and he sat down on a bench to watch these carriages pass by with their burdens of love. Almost immediately a woman walked up to him and sat down beside him.
And the ship's largest contingent was from Leras. Knowing both Sandemans and the unconditional nature of the personal fealty oath, he found it hard to believe his pursuer's identity. What had gone wrong, to turn a Sandeman warrior from thakur-na to renegade assassin? Or . . . had anything?
A pressor beam sent them out the airlock and through the cruiser's wake, the lander's engines screaming as its pilot fought it through maneuvers it hadn't been designed for. Corina felt a sudden lurch of fear could he do it? *He's from Clan Leras and he's battleprepped,* Medart assured her. *That part I'm not worried about can you get anything else while we're going in?*
It was a spring evening, one of those first warm and pleasant evenings which fill the heart with the joy of life. Monsieur Leras went along with his mincing old man's step; he was going along with joy in his heart, at peace with the world. He reached the Champs-Elysees, and he continued to walk, enlivened by the sight of the young people trotting along.
That was bad enough, but a good percentage on this particular ship were from Clan Leras, so even the ones not directly related to him would know him on sight. And they weren't IntelDiv; they wouldn't know not to recognize him. He turned and began walking away, hoping against hope that the crew was still all aboard ship.
She stood before him and in an altered, hoarse, angry voice exclaimed: "Well, it isn't for the fun of it, anyhow!" He insisted in a gentle voice: "Then what makes you?" She grumbled: "I've got to live! Foolish question!" And she walked away, humming. Monsieur Leras stood there bewildered. Other women were passing near him, speaking to him and calling to him.
"DarLowrie went to the open house, Colonel and one of those on the destroyer static display recognized him. His name is Nevan, and he has accepted an invitation to visit the ship." "Nevan!" Owajima exclaimed. "What clan, do you know?" "It was not said, but the largest clan group aboard is from Leras." "Ah." Owajima was silent for several seconds, absorbing that.
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