"We work together no more. He glanced up at Roding and met his eyes. He did not move. He himself, middle-aged, steeped in traditions of the City and moneymaking, very ill-skilled in all the lighter graces of life, as he himself well knew, could yet come to her invested with something of the halo of romance by the almost magical powers of an unlimited banking account. And pouring the contents of a small powderflask into a bumper of brandy, he tendered him the mixture. The baby boy was delivered in a sea of black blood, born dead and blue, and strangled by plague. I don't care how lonesome it is. Well, I was all for dragging in Bow Street there and then, and getting the pair of those fraudsters thrown in gaol.
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