. Only a son’s another story. The manager stared at the empty doorway for a space, shrugged, and returned to his ledgers. " Starting at a rapid pace in the direction of the Old Bailey, and crossing Fleet Bridge, "for oyster tubs renowned," the trio skirted the right bank of the muddy stream until they reached Fleet Lane, up which they hurried. I’ll have to wait here, of course, which means you, Hilary—’ ‘Will have to do tomorrow’s patrol. But go on.
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