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... of the table, his pipe resting between two thick fingers, a slow ribbon of smoke curling upwards into the haze.
He said nothing yet.
He preferred silence at the beginning silence made men uneasy, made them speak rashly, or sweat out their nerves before he demanded a word.
Around him sat Vyacheslav Molotov, rigid.
Lavrentiy Beria, broad-faced, predatory eyes hidden behind his spectacles.
Kliment Voroshilov in uniform and two other senior men from the NKVD. ...
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