Lost World of the Wends (29)

Boris leaned back and rested his head in laced hands. ‘Ah, Martin Luther, I remember him. I dropped in on him while he slept. He woke up and told me to go away. The cheek of the monk.’ Smug. Very smug. He seemed to take the brooding weather and chaos in his stride as if he were born to exist in such an environment.
He’s the devil incarnate, Hans thought.

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Warning!

The hairs at the nape of my neck stood on end. I had a bad feeling about this. I needed to warn the others. This man was bad news.

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