"I'll be his evil genius!" vociferated Jonathan, who seemed to enjoy her torture. He looked at his port wine as though that tawny ruby contained the solution of the matter. " 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. It remains a bizarre idea to me that Lucy Alberti could ever become so detailed or so real, but I’m certainly glad to have made her acquaintance.
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