By Tom Winnifrith | Thursday 23 December 2021
‘twas the night before Christmas and Julie Meyer was hanging up some particularly expensive stockings, naturally bought on expenses from her Ariadne days, in the mock fireplace of her rented Zurich apartment. “I know that I have been a good girl this year and if there is nothing in there in the morning that just shows that Santa is just a horrid old misogynist like the rest of them” muttered Julie to herself.
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