Both had very singular faces; very odd wigs, very much pulled over their brows; and very large cravats, very much raised above their chins. “It was inevitable,” he declared. Raymond Plote would only be missed by his mother. ‘Ha! It’s you, is it?’ He threw a glance at his two juniors. The affair passed at one leap from a spree to a nightmare of violence and disgust. ‘His granddaughter?’ ‘Yes, his son’s daughter. It’s obvious you have eyes for someone else. I wouldn't touch the stuff for all the pearls in India. “You promised faithfully to be there,” he said slowly.
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