“The room split up into excited, gesticulating groups. Mancini went off to confer with half the hoteliers in Cortina. I don’t know where Mayne went to—he just seemed to drift off on his own. I found myself having a lonely lunch at the Luna, trying to figure out what all this had to do with Engles. When I got back to Col da Varda, there were several parties of ski-ers there, for the sun was still warm. I went straight up to my room and wrote out a report of the auction for Engles. By the time I w...ent downstairs again the ski-ers had all gone. But Valdini was there. He was standing at the bar, drinking. He had a furtive look. ‘You had bad luck,’ I said for the sake of something to say. He shrugged his shoulders. He would like to have appeared unconcerned. But he was very drunk. He could not control his features. He looked so wretchedly miserable that I felt almost sorry for the little bounder. ‘Anyway, you had Mancini licked,’ I encouraged him. ‘Mancini,’ he snarled. ‘He is a fool.MoreLessRead More Read Less
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