Sometimes he just wonders if there was anything between them at all. In these moments, he hates himself the most for the thought that the only things they shared were two rooms and London's pale, star-studded sky.It's like a disease eating him up inside. He could beg on his knees if only that would change anything.
He is a man of good birth and excellent education, endowed by nature with a phenomenal mathematical faculty.
I’m his protege, Mrs Holmes. When he dies, I get all his stuff and his job.
No.
Oh, well, I help out a bit.
Closer.
If he does get murdered or something…
Probably stop talking now.