A lot of people couldn’t figure out Armstrong. He had a close blond crew cut and small pale blue eyes and scarcely a line or a feature in his face that you could remember. His expression hardly ever changed. You’d ask him a question, and he would just stare at you with those pale-blue eyes of his, and you’d start to ask the question again, figuring he hadn’t understood, and—click—out of his mouth would come forth a sequence of long, quiet, perfectly formed, precisely thought-out sentences, full of anisotropic functions and multiple-encounter trajectories, or whatever else was called for. It
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