In York, you couldn’t lay a gas pipe or a new drain without digging up a Roman skeleton. If they didn’t like their “eternal rest” being disturbed, then surely the streets of the girls’ home town would be full of legions of the dead roaming about. (“They are,” Florence said.) Freda’s next-door neighbour in the Groves had a Roman skeleton in his coal cellar, people paid tuppence to come and gawp at it. Freda would rather spend the money on a bag of pear drops.
