The summer arrived, speeding the Plague and with it the famine in the streets. They talked lightly but confidentially until Sir John approached them with a slight frown upon his face. “Do you want some of mine?” “Yes. With me behaving as if everything was infinitely matter-of-fact, what could he do? And just then Heaven sent old Manningtree—I didn’t tell you before of the fortunate intervention of Manningtree, did I? He was looking quite infernally distinguished, with a wide crimson ribbon across him—what IS a wide crimson ribbon? Some sort of knight, I suppose. Still, here we are in this dingy, foggy city.
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