He looked tired, more so even than Lindblom had; they were all tired, all of their class. What a great burden, Adams thought, the luxury of this way we live. Since no one makes us suffer we have elected to volunteer. He saw this on Lantano’s face, as he had seen it, or something like it, on Verne Lindblom’s. But not on Brose’s, he thought suddenly. The man with the most power and responsibility feels the least—if he feels any—weight. No wonder they all trembled; no wonder their nights were bad. They served—and knew it—a bad master.
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