They were ingenious disguises of gilt paper destructively gummed, it would seem, to Ann Veronicas’ best dancing-slippers. ‘You heard Gosse—I mean, the man you know as Valade?’ ‘Clear as day, miss,’ he uttered. ‘At least I couldn’t say for sure. Furious shouting, and the thunder of running feet. Lead, worth nothing at all until Hoddy picked them up; then they became full of magic. The houses they flitted to and from were glutted with hangers-on, servant/mistresses, and errant prostitutes. Thank him, not me, man. .
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