Philip Baker was certain he was the poorest representative of the Kensington Borough in the grand building that evening. He wore perhaps the last good suit he had, although the knew the buttons were coming loose. The shirt was thread-bare at the elbows, but blissfully hidden, and his shoes had been polished till they shined, although the leather was paper thin. The had taken a glass of wine, and a fair helping of food although he felt guilty for it, and was even now trying to stay out of the way of the crowds of guests, although on the look out for new likely employers- needless to say, discovering which of the well-dressed lords and ladies were likely to higher a researcher without a degree to his name was proving to be difficult while he hid in the corner.
He simply had to be more positive, more assertive, and he stepped out of the shadows and towards the crowd, swallowing and pulling himself together.