The coach was unsprung, the seats unpadded, the roads of a vileness, the journey longer than he could have imagined. He staggered out at the other end, cursing John Martin and Leo and himself, and discovered that at some point someone had picked his pocket and stolen twenty pounds. At least it wasn’t more. He’d split his money up and secreted it about his person and in his luggage. But it had gone from an inner pocket, which was rather frightening, and he had no idea when, which was worse, and it was a sizeable part of his entire worldly wealth for the duration of a month. It was a bad blow on
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