How often, in his early days in his own Service, had he been part of this same routine – through Strasbourg into Germany, through Niegoreloye into Russia, over the Simplon, across the Pyrenees. The tension. The dry mouth. The nails ground into the palms of the hands. And now, having graduated away from all that, here he was going through with it again. ‘Yes, I see,’ said Bond, dodging his memories.
