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though stockings had not yet been invented although they had existed in the US since the end of the 1930s and in all of Europe, obviously with England as an exception.
It was one of the first English peculiarities that I notice. People read the yellow press like the Sun or Mirror or less primitive newspapers like the Mail or Evening Standard. In doing so they were all together in looking for something, mostly flats. There was a distinct lower class that was working and could just feed itself from what it earned. Most of them were deeply in debt and tried with great difficulty to keep up with the monthly installment payments on their credit cards, which the banks had generously and irresponsibly allotted to them. I got to know at least a dozen normally waged people who had up to fifteen credit cards, each with a limit of £3,000 or £45,000 of unsecured credit. At the end of the climb up such a mountain of debts stood a serious word with the bank manager and then personal insolvency. By status and earnings I did not belong to that category of people, but they were my travelling companions, day in, day out, mostly the same faces on which I could read the troubles of their daily life and their fears of the future. Once arrived at the office a daily routine developed. John and I spoke of the queries that had landed on our desks, from all over the world every day: These queries were pre-selected by an invisible post room and the queries that concerned our section were being passed on to us by 09.30 am. The rubbish, we threw right into the trashcan. Then the secretaries came in for dictations or to receive instructions and meticulously and with unbeatable experience prepared the placement slips, documents of many pages, codified, classified, with mysterious numbers, and handed them back to us or passed them on to the junior brokers to queue at the Boxes, to get written consent to the contractual agreements, as documented on the slips. After a few days Moira came in one morning and put my „Lloyd’s pass“ on my desk, a plastic card governed by strict rules of use, with the Lloyd’s Crest - the „signet“ of the corporation and a laminated photo of myself was emblazoned on it.
„Welcome to the Club,“
She said with a meaningful expression.
„If you have any problems I’m at your disposal.“ „How am I to understand that?“
I answered with an innocent face.
„However you want to,“
Her answer. In the firm there was an easy-going conversational tone. I looked at the card. It had the serial number 1447. There it was again, the 4. On the 4th Martha was born, on the 4th also Rachel, as well as myself. 4 was the number that came to
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