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their superior, and after a second's consideration I followed them into the corridor.
"Mr. X?" I called. "Mr. Classmate X, sir!" He stopped and precisely turned his leathern skull. His associates glared, even counseled him (so I gathered from their expressions) to ignore me; but he shook his head, as slightly as he had shrugged earlier, and permitted me to overtake them.
"Dr. Spielman'sprotégé ,"he murmured with the faintest of smiles. "No use trying to Graduateus, Classmate Goat-Boy: until everyone can pass, we won't believe in Passage. Too bad your Dr. Spielman's turned mid-percentile -- he used to have more sense."
His accent, I noticed, was very slight, and closer to Max's, for example, than to any Nikolayan's I had heard. I asked whether he knew my former keeper personally, promising to pass along his regards when next I visited his cell.
"No use in that," he said quickly. "One knows Dr. Spielman by reputation, of course. Let's speak no more of him." And so we moved on down the corridor towards a reception-room where he was to confer informally with Chancellor Rexford prior
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