Her foster father, Larry, was the hard working son-of-a-bitch type with a disdain for suits. She shut the door behind her. ’ ‘That’s fortunate,’ murmured Lucilla. I tried to get across the terrace and onto the bridge to introduce myself, but the crowds did not part and I lost you. Horrors abounded in every passageway as each turn could bring a vision of a poor woman running from her screaming plague-infested son or a bloated corpse of a rich man whose mouth lolled open, showing gaps where someone had pried out a few golden teeth.
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