..*Foreword:Down a sun-kissed valley and up over a green hill did one come upon the splendid sight of Old London Town. A landscape of steeples, spires... and belching chimney pots stretching to the far horizon as the populace goes about their daily business.Each living their own stories that would be told over and over as the years and generations pass. But some of those tales can only be spoken about in dark shadows with a nudge and a wink. Bawdy stories. Ribald stories. Lusty stories that. It blows.”“Aren't you able to paint them yourself?”“Oh, no way,” she said with mild shock. “I never paint them myself. My toes deserve the very best, don't you think?”“Yes, Emilia. They do.” The words had left my mouth before I'd really given them any thought.There was a moment of silence between us, as if she was genuinely bemused that I would outright admit such a thing; her mouth hung agape. Meanwhile, my lips were sealed in embarrassment between two reddening cheeks. Emilia cocked her head. More

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