The Mirror of Many Faces
I woke up in Paris on a Tuesday, which was wrong because I'd gone to sleep in London on Monday night, and I'd been in London for three weeks, and the man I'd been for those three weeks—the man who was Edward Blackwood, barrister, member of the Inner Temple, son of a retired army colonel and a French mother who'd died when I was twelve—had a meeting with a client at nine o'clock. But the man who...
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