Asking her way once or twice, she passed along Fleet Street into the Strand, and crossed Trafalgar Square, into Piccadilly. Ah Cum was not a sailor, but he knew his water-front. A lucky escape. He’d borne mention of the woman’s name. At the door to the kitchen, he called out, ‘Pottiswick!’ The old man came out, shoving his chin in the air and glaring. Sheppard, faintly.
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