” “Penelope,” I said softly, “the friend was Morton…Morton Jeffers.” She went pale. There was no more respected man in the community tha... Morton, or should I say Rev. Morton Jeffers. I continued, “You’re right Penelope, I never liked you and I still don’t, but even you don’t deserve this.” Just then the bell rang and the students rushed into the building. Our conversation was over. I had been looking forward to knocking her down a peg or two, but now that it had happened I didn’t feel very. A friend of mine inLondon had recommended a cosy little restaurant in thePlace Pigalle, so I headed up there. My friend hadwarned me that the dress code at this place was “sexy-chic”, so I decided to try out my new stockings, with avery short skirt, low-cut top and killer heels. He was right! I felt very comfortable in the prettylittle brasserie (that’s bra-zer-ee, not bra-zee-er),since almost every table was occupied by a sexily-dressed single girl, many of them lingering. More

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