He was there concealed, waiting her return. And his scarlet coat had nothing to do with it, as Hilary was fond of recounting, for he had been in civilian clothes when they met, as he was tonight. The prostitute’s attack was predictable, typical. " 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. She writhed in ecstasy as she wrapped her legs around his waist, then raised her knees to his shoulders.
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