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Summary
“You’re not so bad, Mr. Link,” Allen said, very firm and very temperate. He paused, smoothing his hands down over the legs of his trousers. “You know. For a bureaucrat.”
Link’s lips twitched into a smile. A real, actual smile. It even reached his eyes; ruddy brown lifting into a sun-warmed shade. He turned towards Allen, bent at the waist. He had a particular way of holding himself; a carriage and a character. Ramrod back, stiff at the hips — but a delicate, gentle placing to his hands. Like he was drawing shapes in the air.
“There are worse things,” Link said very loftily, “than being a bureaucrat.”
“Like being a bastard?”
"Like being a bastard," Link agreed.