Please, Mr. Kuryakin.” Dr. Neville gestured toward the couch, a tufted monstrosity in dark green velvet that would have been at home in any Victorian drawing room. “Have a seat.”
Reluctantly, Illya took his place on the couch, pushing aside a pair of antique kilim pillows in the traditional Kazak style. “I wondered when you would get around to me,” he said.
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