his hands into the pockets of his coat.
Remain silent.
"Is there anything else?" I finally ask, exasperated, since he is making no move to disappear or to do anything useful."Yes," he replies, "it is night and the messengers are waiting. You know, even if you have perhaps already forgotten, they see something like a king in you."
At least one thing all my lives have in common, I think dully, in each of them I was somehow royal.