It was about twelve o’clock, late February, with the sun not shining and a look of cold rain in the flat grey clouds silhouetting the Liver Building. I was wearing my black jeans, polished black boots, and a dark blue sweater with a v-neck. I was neat, clean, shaved and sober, and I didn’t care who knew it. I was everything the casually-dressed archaeologist ought to be. I was calling on the Head of Archaeology.
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