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... imy robes sat at a round table.
Tap.
One of the men, whose fingers were so pale and slender they hardly seemed to belong to a man, raised his hand and began to rhythmically tap on the table.
Tap. Tap. Tap-tap-tap.
His tapping was filled with irritation, and though it went on for a considerable time, the man sitting opposite said nothing.
It was the finger-tapper who finally broke the silence in frustration.
"Why the hell aren't they here yet?"
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