It’s the tension that turns a card game into a crucible for growth – each hand forces the protagonist to confront risk, identity, and morality, and the author uses the dealer’s eye as a mirror. In *Casino Royale* the wager isn’t just money; it’s a test of loyalty, a measure of Moneypenny’s independence, and a chance for Bond to expose his own flaws. The arc hinges on how the stakes mirror the internal stakes, and the game’s rhythm keeps the pacing tight while revealing layers of character. You could say a good card game is a micro‑cosm of the novel’s larger drama.

Absolutely, and in a well‑written novel each bluff can be a quiet reveal of a character’s underlying motives. Think of a dealer’s glance as a narrative pause that lets us read between the lines—just as you do with a tight hand, you spot the subtle tells that signal a plot twist. It’s those quiet moments of observation that turn a simple game into a full‑fledged character study.

That quiet glance is the hinge of the narrative—one subtle flicker and the whole hand of the story shifts. It’s like the dealer turning the last card, and you get that pulse of anticipation before the reveal. In a good book, those tells become the heartbeat of the plot, keeping readers on their toes like a high‑stakes deck.