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Forge of God Greg Bear INTROIT: KYRIE ELEISON June 26, 1996 Arthur Gordon stood in the darkness by the bank of the Rogue River, having walked a dozen yards away from his house and family and guests, momentarily weary of company. He stood six feet two inches in height, losing no more than an inch to a slight stoop. His hair was a dusty brown color, his eyebrows a lighter shade of the same. He had a well-proportioned frame and a sufficient amount of muscle, but he lacked any trace of fat; his muscles showed clearly beneath the skin, giving him an appearance of thinness. The same leanness added intensity and, falsely, a hint of villainy to his face. When he smiled, it seemed he might be thinking something unpleasant or planning mischief. But when he spoke or laughed, that impression was quickly dispelled. His voice was rich and even and calm. He was and always had been-even in his year and a half in Washington, D.C.-the gentlest of men. The clothes Arthur Gordon owned tended to the professorial. His favorite outfit was an old brown pair of corduroy pants-he wore them now-a matching jacket, and a blue checked long- sleeved shirt. His shoes were few and sturdy, running shoes for wear around the house, and for work solid brown or black leather wing tips. His only ostentation was a wide rectangular belt buckle showing a turquoise Saturn and silver stars set in rosewood above brass
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