In a jazz bar on the last night of 1937 watching a quartet because she couldn't afford to see the whole ensemble, there were certain things Katey Kontent knew:
How to sneak into a cinema and steal silk stockings from Bendel's how to type eighty words a minute, five thousand an hour, nine million a year, and that if you can still lose yourself in a Dickens novel then everything is going to be fine
Savanis