There was a stamp of feet on the floor of the room above the bar. The woman lifted her head and frowned. She flashed Clair a saucy wink from an eye as...jewel-like and blue as his beloved sibling’s and went back to the bar to take some bottles out from behind it which she put on a tray and took up the rickety stairs. Clair stared after her. He was remembering how he had wept, the few times Hanya Vashin had come back to him with the scent of some other man’s perfume on his lean neck. He had not. " Whilst you, Mr Lewes, with your excessively domed forehead and resplendent handlebar moustache are a perfect vision of Victorian manhood. I really must commend you on your quite stunning facial hair whilst eschewing the post-Crimea trend for a wild and untamed beard of Biblical proportions." And I hope you don't think it too forward of me, Miss Evans, but I can't help but observing that your right hand is noticeably larger than its counterpart." That, Mr Lewes, is a matter of some historical. More

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