Vandervell nearly choked on his beer as he chortled with mirth.
“Top man! It was b****y yards off but who cares.”
Another batsman walked out. Things settled down and the score clicked up.
“Comrade, since we have this chance I feel I need to do a small act of socialist duty,” said Vandervell.
“Is it about the revolution in Fleetworth-Green?”
“Yes, in a way it is. At the barricades the worker’s committee will sentence the exploiters to death. I believe we have such enemies of the people among us.”
Shannon smiled. He was obviously going to give her some information.
“There is a certain Sylvie Arrowsmith in the area. They live in that awful gated community. Her husband is Ron. I believe he once removed a rival’s eyeball with a spoon. Do I have your attention comrade?”
“You do,” she rep
