Аннотация
CHAPTER ONE: CHICKS IN ARMOUR
APRIL DANCER surveyed the London scene with a benign gaze—if the word benign can be applied to a lissome lovely in a Paris dress. But benign she felt. London did that to her. She loved New York; Paris had its strident claims; Berlin its efficient bustle hiding the deep scars of a quartered city. All great cities had their special effect on her. There were few she didn't know, or whose language she couldn't speak. But London made her feel benign. Especially after a grueling session in the mountains of Tibet and the hectic round up of her former enemies—THRUSH agents—in the steamy clamor of Bombay.
Now, that session was over—mission accomplished—the last loose ends tied and severed, here in London itself. "Ah yes, of course, my dear Miss Dancer," Mr. Waverly had said. "You do indeed deserve a holiday. Mr. Slate also. By all means—stay for two days in London."
"Two days!" Mark Slate had yelped. "I can't ...
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