Putting on a brave face

Daughter headed over the border to the Big Smoke for a few weeks to work long hours in return for no pay. It's called being an intern.

Although she vehemently denies it, I know she'd have preferred to stay at home instead of heading to the bright lights and excitement of London. Her face at the window looks so sad - that smile is bound to be false, kindly put on for my benefit. I imagine she was bravely brushing away the tears as the train pulled out of Waverley.

Have a great time, Flora - and remember, there's no need to bring me back any souvenirs from London.

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