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Waddell had looked the man over, trying to size him up.
He was in his early forties, rather short and very compactly built, and with a manner that was reserved and stiff despite his efforts to adapt himself to American ways.
His open face seemed to promise a sort of innocence, until one looked into his eyes, which had no warmth in them but only alert intelligence.
Waddell had heard that he had been a commando in Rommel's Afrika Corps, and he said to himself: I'd hate to run into him in the desert on a dark night.
Aloud he had said, making conversation:

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