Bond grinned with pleasure. What most warmed him was that M. himself should have rung up Mathis. This was quite unheard of. The very existence of M., let alone his identity, was never admitted. He could imagine the flutter this must have caused in the ultra-security-minded organization in London.

Ev­ery­thing they be­lieved in turned out to be wrong.

a fresh breeze danced lightly through the trees, and the odd sensation that all the buildings were quietly humming

Playing a Fender is an art itself. They&#39;re always going out of tune.

Written By Ritchie Blackmore

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