Dion Fortune

I have just had to listen to the most amazing and preposterous story I have ever heard in my life from anyone who wasn’t Mr Crowley.

I do not know quite what to make of it. I suspect there is a considerable amount of truth in it, or it would not be so damning. At the same time I have no trouble at all believing Malaspina’s assertion that this is an impostor, because he really is not that stupid, is he? He can’t be. A man who had done some of the things that have just been related to me while in public service of any kind would not possess the perspicacity to come in from a rain of frogs.

I should probably have been willing to believe it, had she not thrown young Dashwood and the man’s own brother into the mix.

As if I hadn't enough to do to prepare for my meeting with Mr Churchill tomorrow, it seems I must needs write a treatise on the nature of sacred kingship for tomorrow's Herald, and somehow manage to convey the necessary truths in language simple enough for The Tatler's readership to understand.

I don't think I've seen anything so patently ridiculous in a very long time; at the same time, to anyone who does not understand what Dracaena does that the Windsors have proven unable to do, it might be damning enough.