It was an easy one to smell early on, Sebastian had taught her: anything reproductive. He would give The Tigress a triple coat of paint, and take these two on a long cruise, wherever they wanted to go—Roundhead and Seraph, the blunderbus and the flaming angel. Its dreariness, like the filthiness of the police cell, was a discovery for her. It did not matter in the least what name the young fellow was travelling under; all James Boyle O'Higgins wanted was the letter H.
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