At this time of day the priest would be at his apartments in Brewer Street, a short walk away from Golden Square which the building overlooked. “What have you been doing since our last talk? Still cutting up rabbits and probing into things? I’ve often thought of that talk of ours—often. Laughed at me, then. “I wonder what you could do?” he said. Gianfrancesco was a contact of mine, I had allied myself to his father before him, and unbeknownst to anyone, to his Great-great-granduncle during the time of Crusades. She attacked me with a carving-knife, and, when I had disarmed her, the jade bit off a couple of fingers from my left hand.
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