“You were right. It was a mistake. It has been rectified,” he reported, expressionlessly.
“Thank you.” Not a look. Not a gesture. “The G— bank has been notified to pay you your salary. Good evening.”
The young man stood motionless. Three, four, five, six seconds flicked off the gigantic time-piece. Two empty eyes burnt in the chalky face of the young man, impressing their brand of fear upon Freder’s vision.
One of Joh Fredersen’s shoulders made a leisurely movement.
“Good evening,” said the young man, in a strangled tone.
He went.
“Why did you dismiss him, father?” the son asked.
“I have no use for him,” said Joh Fredersen, still not having looked at his son.
“Why not, father?”
“I have no use for people who start when one speaks to them,” said the Master over Metropolis.