She could see over a waist high stone wall into the miniature courtyard, complete with benches only a small child could sit upon, one which had been broken in half, its two pieces left unjoined on the sandy ground. “There was a keg, hash, LSD, pot, you know, the usual. I'll not forget your two mistresses, Jack. The air was sweet with the perfume of flowers, and the melody of murmuring insects, the blue sky was cloudless, the heat of the sun was tempered by the heather-scented west wind. Her white shirt was mired with a central bloodstain, his pants caked with mud. Yes. He is in Newgate.
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