The lunches were individual affairs: sandwiches, bottled olives and jam commandeered from the Victoria. It was cheating, pitiful cheating. God only knows what I have done, or left undone. Unlocking a cupboard, he then took out some cold meat and other viands, with a flask of wine, and a bottle of brandy, and began to eat and drink voraciously. Rank ingratitude, I call it. “Looks like old times here, I see. Some indeed carried themselves, dressed themselves even, rather as foreign visitors from the land of “Looking Backward” and “News from Nowhere” than as the indigenous Londoners they were. Though a thief, Jack Sheppard is a man of his word.
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