Besides these there was a warm gooseberry-tart, and a cold pigeon pie—the latter capacious enough, even allowing for its due complement of steak, to contain the whole produce of a dovecot; a couple of lobsters and the best part of a salmon swimming in a sea of vinegar, and shaded by a forest of fennel. There’s sure to be a place somewhere. Jackson’s. “In private. “Certainly I was a little way off at the café, and she had a hat and veil on, but I could have sworn that it was ‘Alcide. That boy was the carpenter's apprentice, Jack Sheppard.
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