Utopia by Thomas More (translated by H. Morley)   The man Parker was sure was a French spy walked down Fleet Street, unconcerned and relaxed. Parker watched as he stopped and bought apples at a stall, and was close enough behind him to hear him crunch into one of them. His hand came up and wiped away the juice that spilled out onto his chin with his sleeve. He’d sauntered out of Wolsey’s London residence less than half an hour after entering. The boys in Harry’s gang who he’d set to watch Wolsey’s house had managed to call Parker before he missed him. No one knew better than Parker there was no French embassy in London at present—he’d had some part in the French ambassador’s hasty departure from England some months ago. But the French would have left their spies in place. To report on the movements and mood of the English King. And Wolsey would be sure to keep an eye on those spies, and encourage a rapport with them. The Cardinal traded on and used information better than anyone, after all, and between the Emperor Charles and King Frances I, Parker knew Wolsey much prefered the French king.
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