Beyond was another door, on which was painted in black letters: MR. One transgression; he was sure of that. He was a thin old man, a wreck in a ruined body, but nothing would induce him to stand in any other way than as stiffly erect as possible like the soldier he had always been, even though he was obliged to lean on his silver-handled cane to do so. He chuckled. “You must not think of me as one. He loves the Mendelians because he hates all the big names of the eighties and nineties. His father was one of my old customers, and I am happy to find his son treading in his steps. Michelle briskly made introductions and then joined the fray of conversations.
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