Engel wasn’t at all amused at winding a sheet around himself as clothing, because he preferred the vanity of the Egyptian kilts, but Jente cottoned on quickly to the fact that the men who went so scandalously shirtless were usually slaves.
No one would listen to them if they looked like slaves.
“You still look like a boy,” Engel pointed out and ran a hand over Jente’s silky cap of dark curls.
“That’s why you’ll have to do the speaking,” Jente said.
“Up there? In that building? What is it?”
“I think, one day, it will be called The Senate.”
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