ToC That night Jack walked to Paddington, and took up his quarters at a small tavern, called the Wheat-sheaf, near the green. Where I am in error, you can set me right. I have come to you for sympathy, perhaps for help. ‘It is seldom enough I am visited by anyone at all, let alone a personable young redcoat. It was a tale of battle, murder, and sudden death on the New York waterfront. As for Mike’s observations on John’s desires to get laid, it was the pot calling the kettle black. And they could talk, they found; and never once, it seemed, did their meaning and intention hitch.
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