For centuries, the height of couture for a man of means and manners was the military uniform, tailored to suit. This look was attractive without being studied or pretentious, as a gentleman would have his uniform proscribed by his regiment, after which it would be laid out by a valet or underofficer. The ideal, carried over into civilian dress of
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And the models are missing the soup.
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(That was before I started work for Torchwood.)
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It might actually be one of those primal fears, like falling off a liff or turning up late and missing finals.
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Or not working as a hedge fund manager in the City.
Torchwood never lets staff go because of the economy, at least!
(And you still get to wear a suit.)
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We're outside the economy and beyond the stock exchange.
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Almost makes up for the Rift shit.
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