He smothered a laugh. “I propose,” Sir John said, “that we pay for our dinner—which we haven’t had— tip the garçon a sovereign, and take a cab to the Ritz. Stanley decided to treat that as irrelevant. Whether it was the nun’s habit or the harlot’s clothing that distressed her more, he could not begin to guess. He told some of the particulars. She raided their settlements in shifts, staggering her kills from tribe to tribe, undiscriminating of their petty politics. He then stamped upon the hand on the lower bannister, until that also relaxed its gripe. Kneebone. “Forgive me,” he said, “but I want to hear it from your sister.
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