Chapter 7
The following day, George’s dire warnings regarding the trains having sadly failed to bear fruit, they had to return to work. The streets of London, far from being paved with gold, were covered with rather revolting grey-brown slush due to the passage of traffic both horse-drawn and motorised, and George feared his trousers would need a good brushing once he returned home.
In the ordinary course of things, George would have expected the snow to supply the main topic of conversation for the week, but it was eclipsed by a rather more startling affair. His fellow clerk, Mr. Phillips, turned up to the office that Monday morning with a black eye.
George hesitated to say anything, unsure if it would be politer to simply ignore it, but Mitchell had no such scruples. “Good God, man, w
