FOOTNOTES: [A] At the hospital of Saint Giles for Lazars, the prisoners conveyed from the City of London towards Tyburn, there to be executed for treasons, felonies, or other trespasses, were presented with a Bowl of Ale, thereof to drink, as their last refreshing in this life. Lucy tried not to notice the starched smell, overpowering and powdery. Knives were worse, especially when you were stabbed back and left traces of your own blood at the crime scene. "I thought it best that you should imagine him. ‘But how do you come here?’ ‘Down on a routine patrol, unluckily for you,’ he answered grimly. It's as well to be on the safe side. We never supposed you helped yourself to a picture set with diamonds—not we!" "Is the guv'ner consarned in this job?" asked Terence, in a whisper. “But what are you going to do?” asked Hetty.
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