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1967, East Grinstead, England
Juggling her large battered suitcase and her portfolio over her back, Julie trudged up the gravel driveway to the huge manor house. Her feet were terribly unhappy with the long trip from the bus stop, and the portfolio kept catching the wind, threatening to make her into a kite’s tail with each gust.
Saint Hill Manor was palatial. Perhaps it was indeed a palace.
She could count at least twenty windows in the façade. How many rooms did it have? Certainly there were dozens of people shuffling in and out of the place. It was like a beehive of activity.
“You! Girl! Have you checked in yet?” A gruff voice with a London accent called out above the din.
Julie turned around to find…
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