The dirty work is for students, not supervisors.

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Again, he heard a tap at the window, louder and more insistent than before. Dr Tailboys, noticably irritated, stopped in mid-sentence and stalked from the room. I followed.
A seagull sat on the windowsill, peering into the front room.
‘Oh, I thought it was my post-doc.’
There was something in his tone that made me think this was a confirmation, rather than an admission of error. He fished something from his corduroys and opened the window. The gull, to my surprise, remained on the sill.
‘Hear.’ The Doctor gave something to the bird and it flew off towards the Cathedral. It looked like it had a USB drive clamped in its beak.
‘Well that’s sorted.’
The Dr closed the window and turned back to the office, picking up the sentence he had left at the desk.

(further fragments from Nails for St Andrew’s Cross: An Oxford Noir Mystery)

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