He propped himself up on one arm, kissing her passionately. “I saw you in a sort of sloping, slippery place, holding on by your hands and slipping. Besides ——” She stopped short. Instead her point disengaged, dropped, and then the sword came up again and banged, flatbladed, onto Gosse’s wrist with such force that his own blade dropped from his grasp. “I was sick of the make-believe. It would be a great matter, I must own, to bring Jonathan Wild to justice. She killed every month, twelve a year, and was for all intents and purposes a serial killer of middle aged men. ‘I have justice. Proof? There is someone who might be willing to help. "I'll pledge you in that toast with all my heart.
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