09/03/2026 10:28

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That is most clearlyevident with my own story, the short novelThe Wallenstein Gambit. Gerd pulled the knife out, and stuck it back over the candle, blood sizzling. It was our fault—myfault. You'retrouble in a troop, but a good man for detached duties.

Guess what those all have in common? Natives of the swarthy persuasion, that'swhat. He bowed to the ladies. Every muscle Eddie had seemed to ache with its own individualprotest, but that background chorus was nothing to the throbbing ache in his thighs and buttocks. It's all my fault,she thought miserably.