Gan was eyes, nose and ears, attached to a long coughing gristle of a man. If anyone died, Gan Murphy knew about it. If someone fell in the river at Chelsea, Gan would hear it in Vauxhall. If someone keeled over friendless in Holywell Street (possibly striking his head on the way down), Gan would hear it in Chancery Lane. He’d hear it with those great cockleshell ears he had, like dinner plates. And what about Gan’s eyes? He could spy a fresh-dug grave at a hundred paces and a failing man at fifty. If Gan Murphy followed you home you knew you were doomed. And what about Gan’s nose? One sniff
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