“Cecil Evans,” I formally introduced myself.“SIR Cecil Evans, in fact,” June added with pride.“Sir? Are you a knight or something? I can tel... that you’re British or something,” Sam lingered a bit while an impatient waiter or waitress no doubt stood by.“A baronet. It’s a hereditary title! As in Dad had it! Yep! Our man here is an aristocrat,” Casey clarified.“Welsh, in fact. From Cardiff, Wales. He’s also a partner at our law firm. I’m just an associate, like Casey here. Erica D’Gianni. June. He was offended in the sense that he hated to see the advantage of momentum dissipate as the continental congress sat on its hands waiting for some sign from the heavens that they would succeed in their endeavor. He was even more incensed as his expenses for money he had borrowed under the credit of his businesses and name were rejected by a treasury that rewarded dubious foreign claims faster than valid vouchers from their Generals in the field.That winter of 1777 was a mixture of both good. More

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