Midnight Harvest
“She read the various signs and finally walked toward the St. Andrew Hotel and Public House, the invitation she had received the week before held in her hand. She was handsomely turned out in a dark teal suit of woolen crepe with a fox wrap negligently tossed around her shoulders; her hat was a feminine navy-blue version of a trilby with a pheasant’s feather and a wisp of a veil that held the sleek roll of her dark hair pulled back and anchored with a small, be-jeweled comb; artfully applied mak...e-up set off her lovely mouth and fine eyes; her gloves and clutch bag matched her suit, the seams of her silk stockings were absolutely straight, and her shoes were navy-blue with three-inch heels and a fashionable ankle-strap. Had she been in Bond Street, she would have turned heads; here she attracted a great deal of attention as she made her way into the pub and went up to the bar. “I am supposed to meet Mr. Sunbury here,” she said.
“He’s expecting you. In the lounge, by the settle, ma’am,”MoreLess
“He’s expecting you. In the lounge, by the settle, ma’am,”MoreLess
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