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79 37. Poltroons and Gimcracks In the name of diddly-squat, in one delinquent second, the Assistant Deputy of Whatever and So Forth speaks of tenebrous vicissitudes when even the pits require decorum and only winds become imperial. Oh, tense beauty waits impatiently in the wings at the Command Performance Social Club, mobilized for celebration during these dissembling times. In tribute to hourly rates, in the land of the fifty-five-gallon drum, the Chief Minister of External Portfolios seems a perfectly normal nuisance. Vacant, plaid-clad figures circle around a behind-the-scenes map. Scentless, home. Simply one word away from ending a career in a dark mull, in the glint of the noonday gun. ...

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