“Bloody bastard,” Q spat. A woman next to him startled at his outburst and asked her companion, just this side of too loud, didn’t that boy have the slightest sense of common decency?
Q resisted the urge to tell her that there was absolutely nothing decent about what he did, and that he could, if he so desired, reduce Buckingham Palace to a pile of smoldering rubble within two minutes and anyone who so much as suspected his involvement would have their work cut out for them when it came to tracking him down. With a curt nod that he hoped channeled one of Bond’s surlier attitudes, Q made his way back into the crowd.
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