I shifted restlessly in my seat. Beside me, Peterson whispered, ‘Bloody hell, Max, we’ve got to stop including these amateurs. We’ll never get anything done at this rate.’ Unfortunately, at that moment, Helen stopped talking and his voice was heard around the Hall with disastrous clarity. You can say this about historians, we may be the tea-drenched disaster-magnets of St Mary's but bloody hell, can we think quickly when we have to. He turned in his seat, fixed a startled Ian Guthrie with a glare, and said, ‘Shh!’ It didn’t save him. I did what I could, but she separated him from the herd and
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