But the general was turning on him, the hint of emotion wiped from his lined features. He was not addicted to monologue, and the only audible comment he permitted himself at first upon a universe that was evidently anything but satisfactory to him that afternoon, was one compact and entirely unassigned “Damn!” The word must have had some gratifying quality, because he repeated it. I thought my sister and her murdered husband dragged me hither, to this very room, and commanded you to slay me. ‘Ah, grandpére. It was painted in the early seventeenth century by a minor artist named DuPre. Since she was only seventeen when she had them, she didn’t deal with it very well. Blueskin might have butchered you and your brat before I'd have lifted a finger to prevent him, if it hadn't suited my purposes to do so, and he hadn't incurred my displeasure.
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