Even in this tense, dangerous situation, Marie-Élise felt the beat of her pulse slow as she focused on the man’s words. This was about sewing and she considered herself one of the best seamstresses in the world. She had been an adequate nurse. But give her a piece of cloth and a pattern or example to follow and she could create the most amazing wardrobes.<br/><br/>His words rang in her ears almost hypnotically as she moved to the book and began to examine the pictures, the files. The uniforms were chilling in what they represented. “We can do this work,” she nodded to herself. The little seamstress seemed less terrified, so much more competent as she keenly reviewed the patterns. “We have nothing in terms of fabric that meets the quality you desire. So yes, we will need your assistance.”<br/><br/>As she spoke those final words, she pulled out her measuring tape from a small pocket sewn into the side of her dress. Measuring a man was a regrettably intimate act. In some ways, she thought she knew some things about a man even his wife might not know. For instance, before she left the room tonight, she would know whether the General dressed his most intimate parts left or right.<br/><br/>Her slender body moved close to the general, so close she could smell his aftershave. “May I?” She asked softly.<br/>