Two or three podgy-looking old men with wives to match, half-a-dozen overdressed girls, and a couple of underdressed American ones, who still wore the clothes in which they had been tramping half over London since breakfast time. Their soft, voluptuous bodies wove among each other to the faint notes of a lyre. They walked across a moat of pea gravel that crunched like noisy cereal under their feet. Wood and Thames taking their places on either side of it, and Jack at a little distance behind. “Aren’t you supposed to be in bed, pervert?” “Yes sir.
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