“Fine,” Grey repeated, more firmly. “Mere formalities. As I said.”
“As you said,” Byrd echoed, with a trifle more skepticism than was entirely becoming. “Covering their arses, I expect.”
“Certainly that,” Grey agreed dryly. “Let us find a little food, Tom. And we must find a bed, as well. Do you know anywhere suitable?”
“To be sure, me lord.” Tom squinted in consideration, and after a moment’s consultation with the detailed map of London he carried in his head, pointed off toward the east.
“The Lark’s Nest; decent house round the corner,” he suggested. “Do a nice oyster pie, and the beer’s good. Dunno about the beds.”
“We’ll chance the fleas for the sake of the beer.”
Diana Gabaldon, Lord John and the Haunted Soldier (Part I – Inquisition)