It does not matter to him either way. He patted the hand on his sleeve. His eyes were small and grey; as far apart and as sly-looking as those of a fox. " Ideas are never born; they are suggested; they are planted seeds. You won’t want to be late the first evening, and it’s ten minutes past seven now. One swift glance about the room, and a sensation of grim foreboding swept through him. Irreton. That’s really what I want to discuss. " The doctor was in the middle fifties, gray and careworn, but with alert blue eyes and a gentle mouth.
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