Who you *really* are is, of course, another matter entirely. Lord Chief Justice, that would be the official title. The letters on your desk were addressed to a Sir Thomas Rotherham. And as to who you are, that took every ounce of my not-inconsiderable experience. After that, the carriage forked left, then right, and then the tell-tale bump at the Fleet Conduit. The only baker to use a certain French glaze on their loaves - a Brittany sage. I'm sure it's quite a mystery as to where you are, and who I am.Īs to where I am, I was, admittedly, lost for a moment, between Charing Cross and Holborn, but I was saved by the bread shop on Saffron Hill. Holmes, apologies for summoning you like this. In summary: ears ringing, jaw fractured, three ribs cracked, four broken, diaphragm haemmorraging. Discombobulate.ĭazed, will attempt wild haymaker. This mustn't register on an emotional level.
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