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Summary
“I don’t think you have any right to be complaining about privacy, Exarch,” Emet-Selch says cooly. The Exarch presses his lips into a firm line and sighs through his nose.
“Though there is some truth to your words,” he begins, gingerly placing his crystalised hand upon Emet-Selch’s chest to push him away, “there is still truth to mine, as well.”