Smith sat in the small room overlooking the East India Company headquarters and looked up as a tap sounded at the door. “Come in,” he said and mustered a smile as a young woman stepped in.
He had interviewed a succession of eager or hopeful women, neither of them certain what the job entailed but all desperate for employment to lift them out of poverty.
“Good morning, sir.” The woman curtseyed as she entered and waited for Smith to speak. She wore good quality clothing, cleverly patched as if she had once known better times.
“Good morning,” Smith said.
This one is different. The others were all feathers and curves, flaunting themselves with nothing behind the façade. This woman has intelligence in her eyes.
This one is different. The others were all feathers and curves, flaunting them
