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Summary
Earlier that day — in a fit of unnatural, desperate courage — I told Percival that I wanted to have a serious talk with him and insistently asked him to stay after work. As soon as the boy heard me say the phrase I usually only used with misbehaving employees, his eyes widened in fear, and his eyebrows shot up to his hairline, making him look even more like a confused puppy. «Y-yes, sir...» he replied, nervously fiddling with the top of his glasses. I could almost read his thoughts: «Merlin, what did I do? Did I fill out the reports incorrectly? Did I make a mistake? Did I confuse Iran with Iraq?»
But no. His reports were perfect, and I never once noticed a single mistake on his part. His offense was far more terrible, not comparable to some measly oversight or a missed line in a contract — he stole my heart, as saccharine and poetic as it may sound...