"When in France, I heard from the Marshal that his brother had perished in London on the night of the Great Storm. Jack did not advance to meet her. “Lucy, this isn’t funny anymore. She was perplexed by this, and stood for some seconds in the empty street hesitating, until the appearance of another circumspect woman under the street lamp at the corner reassured her. Horrors abounded in every passageway as each turn could bring a vision of a poor woman running from her screaming plague-infested son or a bloated corpse of a rich man whose mouth lolled open, showing gaps where someone had pried out a few golden teeth.
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