“A splendid deal if I may say so, Miss Polly,” the Professor said, his head
pecking at the plate of syrup loaf in front of him. Dot, dressed in an
elegant tweed two-piece, contained a smile; she knew Polly’s nickname for her accountant. He glanced at the document on the coffee table in the Cheapside flat. “The
Home Office will pay 21/9 each for 500 coffins. Treated pine with rope handles.
Collection by the Royal Army Service Corps under guard.”
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