And even she was forced to admit to herself that this last resource of hers was a slender reed on which to lean. The time was the 26th of November, 1703: the place, the Mint in Southwark. ‘Don’t tell me you’ve found her!’ ‘Ah, Gérard,’ uttered the girl in a gratified tone as Major Alderley walked through into the light. She felt conscious of her nipples becoming visibly erect under the tight t-shirt and wished that she owned a thicker brassiere. It was a habit she had taken from Remenham House, but could not wear because of the colour which must draw attention. The office is a sight—not one sheet of paper on another; bills and receipts everywhere.
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