A remittance man. ‘I believe that. They were sounding more and more like Civic every day. She became aware that at regular intervals a light flashed upon her face and a bodiless eye regarded her, and this, as the night wore on, became a torment. The houses they flitted to and from were glutted with hangers-on, servant/mistresses, and errant prostitutes. ’ ‘They wear a uniform, do they not? They march and fight with swords and shoot with guns, no?’ ‘Well, yes, miss. She held out her arms to him and smiled. “It is a secret mission,” she declared.
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