Montague Hill. Expiation. Sebastian crouched on the floor with a single dead victim, a young highwayman. She heard his voice screaming her name into the twilight as she fled, his cries trailing like banners, weaving through the breeze that had begun to gently stir the dew on the ground. “The bravest of us have joints in our armour. I have only just left Wych Street. “What did it matter?” she cried. Here I am. Wish SHE”—he indicated Miss Klegg’s back with a nod—“was at the bottom of the sea.
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