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Piccadilly was an Englishman. He poked up from the peat-black soil of fen country, straight from the deep silt, wetted ash, and ancestral bones, autochthonous and stalky as the asparagus that also grew there. He was reserved, solitary, and fastidious; he was especially particular about the cut of his trousers, the hand and drape of fabric. Tall and slim, he wore his fine, sober clothes with an air of understated, accustomed luxury. At the age of eighteen, Piccadilly moved to London and never left.
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