“Jurnet, whose taste ran to savouries, eyed the rapidly disintegrating structure with distaste. ‘What’s that on top, for Christ’s sake?’ ‘Crown jewels, I shouldn’t wonder, considering what they stung me for it.’ The Sergeant dug in his plastic spoon with gusto. ‘Whatever you do, don’t tell Rosie. She’ll kill me, all these calories – and in this heat I couldn’t stand another murder, not even my own.’ ‘You still don’t have to stuff yourself with that muck.’ ‘Peckish, are we?’ The little Welshm...an eyed his superior officer shrewdly. ‘Her ladyship didn’t bring out the caviare and champers, then?’ ‘Only information.’ And aggravation, Jurnet might have added. It hurt his professional pride not to call the shots. ‘What d’ you think of her? – says she actually found Shelden on the grass in the early hours, and, thinking him dead, did sweet Fanny Adams. Left him lying there, can you credit it, like he was an old crisp bag, for the serfs to sweep up in the morning, and put out for the dustman along with the rest of the rubbish.MoreLessRead More Read Less
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