“Of course I’m worried,” said Uptil. He sat back in Rupert Triumff’s chair in the Solar of seventeen, Amen Street, put his hands behind his head and managed to look anything but. Doll sat glumly on the bench seat nearby, and toyed distractedly with the lace trim of her gloves. “You don’t seem very worried,” she said. “He could be dead.” “He could be,” remarked Uptil smoothly. “He could be dead drunk. You know what he’s like.” Uptil stretched and looked out at the damp evening that pressed itself against the Solar windows. The third quarter of eight had just chimed from St Ozzards, and it was turning into a soggy, unattractive night. “I must say,” said Agnew, sipping peppermint tea in a dim alcove on the other side of the room, “that on this occasion, I share Mistress Taresheet’s concern. It has been my”
What do You think about Triumff: Her Majesty's Hero?
