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... ay, lightly blaming the clear sky.

Prichenkaya was welcoming spring. In Krasilov, spring was merely “a slightly less cold winter,” and the outer roads, made muddy by the awful rasputitsa, had turned into slush.

Still, it was spring nonetheless. The gray sky was disappearing, and little by little, the weather was clearing up.

Because of that.

“Your Majesty. Lieutenant Colonel Dmitri Cherkatov is here to report.”

“Let him… come in.”

Without rain, the ...

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