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Had Miss Holmes some floors to scrub, Mrs. Watson would have attacked them with religious fervor, if only to keep herself from sinking further into this pit of anxiety.
Fowler, frowning more deeply, performed a systematic search of the pockets—very few, given that ladies didn’t care for that sort of thing—and found nothing more than a handkerchief.
“Well,” said Fowler, “I always enjoy a case more once witnesses start quoting Shakespeare, don’t you?”
Perhaps she had always been a monster, but even the lady monsters of the world couldn’t escape the expectations that came of being women.
