It is 23:30, and I have ust arrived from Mr. Charrington's room. We have agreed to meet there a few more times, but I am beggining to feel unceartin. But if so, I hope she can bring us another platter of bread and coffee. Oh that coffee was superb, with its fine, granulated beans in the brown dust that could easily fill the airs of Airstrip One. Then again, I think we should meet in another location. I don't want to see another rat. I don't. Not in my dreams or reality.
That cute song still is preminant in my mind. "You owe me three farthings, say the bells of St. Martin's, When will you pay me? Say the bells of Old Bailey..." I wonder how the rest goes? I will ask Mr. Charrington on our next visit.
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