Alastair Morton

摘要

It often seemed that Alastair Morton had been set down in the wrong age and the wrong place. Towering and irascible, with piercing blue eyes and, at one time, a bandit's beard, he should not have been dealing with British civil servants and City types at all. He was really a voortrekker, like his South African forebears on his mother's side. Circling the wagons, haranguing the faint-hearted and blasting all obstacles, dead or living, with shot were his chosen modes of operation. All the worse for him, therefore, that he spent his career not with real elephants, but with large white ones dreamed up by pencil-pushing lackeys in Whitehall.