[Edgeworth rises at once in greeting. He does not - he is pleased by this - flinch at the Messire, last heard issuing mockingly, scornfully; he does not flinch, either, to see him. The man looks solemn, serious, even grim, without the flashes of mad desperation he'd seen before. More like the Mavros of that first encounter than the Mavros of the second and third.
Good. Level heads laid down keener judgments.]
Mr. Shahrizai. Please have a seat. Might I purchase for you a beverage of some ilk?
no subject
Good. Level heads laid down keener judgments.]
Mr. Shahrizai. Please have a seat. Might I purchase for you a beverage of some ilk?