Thus far, the bit of theatre composed by Professor Stokes and myself has gone with the regularity of the tides.  Blair is in my home, Julia has arrived with pinpoint tardiness, and Professor Stokes is regaling them both with a particularly excruciating recitation of the family history.  My part is simple.  Slip out, make my way to Blair House, follow the map made by the good Professor whose OSS training proved invaluable, inject Eve, and then make my way back before the match strikes the flambé.

For once, I feel as if I am not alone in my fight.  For once, triumph may be possible.  Nay, inevitable, if Professor Stokes is correct.



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