In one of the dazzling rooms of the French Foreign Office, a score of distinguished statesmen sat around a highly polished table. In the background were the underlings, porfolios under arms, pince-nez perched on noses, sleek hair plastered flat on knowing heads, well-pressed clothes hanging immaculately from shoulders and hips.
There was a tomblike silence in the room. Premier Theunis of Belgium poised his pen above a paper which lay before him. His right hand descended swiftly, there was a dexterous movement, a horrid, scratchy sound, a faint bump and a signature...
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