1703. For a time Ann Veronica went on her way gauging the quality of sordid streets. It was his redemption, his ticket out of hell—that blue-serge coat. ’ ‘I would have done, only you threatened to blow off my head,’ Gerald reminded her, laughing. In Wych Street Owen Wood did dwell; A carpenter he was by trade, And money, I believe, he made. ’ Mrs Sindlesham sighed deeply. Then we can look out together for such employment—as would be more suitable for you. It feels like I’ve got a snake of mucus stuffing my entire throat, just one big solid rope.
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