More on this book
Community
Kindle Notes & Highlights
Crispin, in his lichen-green coat and pale gold waistcoat, would have been flash in any company; on this street, he looked like a butterfly among moths, except that the moths here had teeth.
A gentleman, of sorts, stood in the doorway, in a tentative sort of way, like he was trying not to be there.
the toff talked like a molly. Not like the Cleveland Street boys, or anything. Just, a light voice that danced a bit and put a lot of stress on a few words, the sort of voice that made you think, I know your sort.
Hall really was rather handsome. It hadn’t quite struck him at first, in the unfamiliarity of looking at a man of colour. He’d noticed brown skin, broad nose, not much more. After three hours of surreptitious glances and casually exchanged words, though, he was seeing deep-set dark brown eyes with creases that suggested Hall laughed a lot, and a bottom lip that dipped in the middle to devastating effect when he smiled. Crispin had always had a weakness for smiles.
Tredarloe’s marshlight eyes were expressive enough to get him into a pack of trouble, and Ned had felt them on him all afternoon. He might even have squatted a bit deeper and lifted a bit more in the way of weight, accordingly. A wispy fellow like that might well have a taste for a man with muscle to him, and Ned had had too many compliments on his legs and arse to bother with false modesty.
He’d always felt a cove had a right to use his body as he liked, as long as he did no harm.
He couldn’t bear men who didn’t kiss. He’d been a working man for a toff too often, and a novelty for white men too, and he couldn’t find the fun in it any more. If Crispin was one of those, ready to fuck but not kiss him, he’d rather know now.
People had ideas of the type of man he was. Even other men of his sort made assumptions, and he’d been pushed away more than once for failing to be suitably passive and pliant.
“It’s George Foster. Well, there’s a turn-up.” “Is he quite poorly?” Crispin asked, with a thread of panic. “None too chipper. We were going to bury him tomorrow.” “Oh, fuck,” Crispin said, and fell off the windowsill.
“What, and stick you with all this on your own?” “Well…” Crispin looked bewildered. “Why not?” Because you shook my hand. Because you need someone to help you, and I don’t see anyone else lining up. Because those freckles are killing me.
“So, you came round, why? I mean, nice to hear you’re all right, anything else?” “Well, I mean… the thing is…” Crispin took a step forward. “You said we’d be magnificent, you and me. I wondered if you’d like to see if you were right.”
