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Bond cautiously satisfied. Le Chiffre absolutely showed no emotion. He continued to hit like a robot, never opening his mouth except giving instructions to sulk every time he started a new game with a soft voice. Outside the quiet area around the large gambling mats were the constant murmur of the other tables chemin-de-fer, roulette, and trente-et quarante; scattered the clear cries of the lagoons, sometimes laughter or choking on agitation from different corners of the vast room. POSTER RETRO HOCKEY DON’T HIT THE POST. In the back there is always the thud of a metronome that marks the fortune of a small part of it with every sound of the wheel spinning and each round of turning a rich rich but soulful man. empty. When Bond’s clock was just 1:10, the whole course of the game suddenly changed. The Greeks at number 1 still have bad luck. He lost the first and second game of half a million, skipping the third time with game of two million. Carmel Delane in number 2 refused to fight. Lady Danvers, number 3, is the same. The Du Pont couple looked at each other. Beat, Mrs. Du Pont spoke up and quickly lost to the default number 8 of the dealer. A game of 4 million, the lake guy said. Hit, Bond replied and ejected a pack of silver.

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Retro Hockey don’t hit the post

Once again he caught Le Chiffre’s gaze. Again he just glanced at his two cards. No, he said. The guy has 5 buttons close to the limit. The situation is dangerous. Le Chiffre flips up a waiter and 4 buttons. He tapped the card box again and pulled out 3 buttons. Seven for the house, adoring lake. And five, he added as he turned up Bond’s losing cards. He scratched his package of money, pulled out 4 million francs and then returned the rest to Bond. Through two hits, Bond lost 12 million francs. Wipe out everything, he only had 16 million francs, just the right bet for the next game. Bond suddenly felt the sweat on his palm. His money has melted like snow basking in the sun. With the coveted indulgence of the silver winner, Le Chiffre gently tapped his right hand on the table. Bond looked across the table into gloomy basalt-like eyes. Those eyes imply an ironic, seemingly challenging question: Do you want to play all the way? Theo, Bond softly spoke. He took some banknotes and chips out of his right pocket, all the money in his left pocket and pushed it in front of him. There was no indication in Bond’s gesture that this was the last bet. His mouth dries suddenly like wallpaper. He looked up and saw Vesper and Felix Leiter standing at the spot where the assassin was standing with a support. Bond didn’t know how long they were here. Leiter was briefly concerned, but Vesper gave him an encouraging smile.

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He faintly heard a rattling sound on the rail behind his back and turned his head. The ugly teeth under the black-rimmed beard responded. Agree, the cocky man and two cards slid toward Bond over his blue stomach a blue stomach no longer smooth but thick, furry and almost suffocating, a gray like grass on a newly built grave. POSTER RETRO HOCKEY DON’T HIT THE POST. Light spilled from the large satin-lined lampshades that had been welcoming, now stained with color escaped Bond’s hand as he glanced at the cards. Then he looked again. They were as bad as they could be old muscle and a yoke a bastard. The yoke glanced up at Bond like a black widow spider. One leaf. He still controlled the emotion in his voice. Le Chiffre faced his two cards. He has a dress and 5 black buttons. He looked at Bond and pulled out another with his large index finger. The whole table was completely silent. Le Chiffre looked at the card and flicked away.

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The wanderer gently lifted it with a shovel and pushed it toward Bond. A good card a 5-card but for him, it’s a hard-to-see fingerprint in dry blood. Now Bond has 6 and Le Chiffre’s is 5, but the dealer has a 5 and since there are 5 will and have to draw another card, trying to increase it with a one, two, three, or four knots. Draw any more cards he will be defeated. The odds were in favor of Bond but now it’s Le Chiffre. He looked across the table into Bond’s eyes, and hardly glanced at the card as he turned it upside down on the table. It’s the unnecessary best card, a 4-button card gives the dealer 9. The guy won. Bond lost the match and lost his pocket Bond sat still, cold from his defeat. He opened the big black box and pulled out a cigarette. He popped the lid of the Ronson lighter, lit the medicine, and put the lighter back on the table. He took a deep breath of medicine into his lungs and then released it between his teeth with a vague screech. Now what? Return to your hotel and bed, avoiding the awkward eyes of Mathis, Leiter and Vesper.

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