[[CW: Sexual talk.]]

Life was … well, it could be worse. Perhaps this fellow was just a better disguised Wells. But maybe, just maybe, he was as sincere as he imagined him.

No matter about that. Some retired naval officer’s son had gotten himself caught embezzling his weight in pounds, and it was up to Zechariah to argue leniency for him. Problem was, this was hardly the first foolhardy thing Mr. Heath had been caught over.

So, there sat Zechariah, freshly shaved and spritzed with a familiar cologne, taking the first thing in the written word to pass his time while Crane took his. Hm, it was already open.

He crossed an ankle over knee, checking the cover with his thumb holding his place. Ooh! This one was always juicy. Always some poor idiot getting roasted over this or that minor inconvenience.

Look at this one! Some poor, impressionable young thing from Texas! Pfah, Americans! He basked in judgmental glory as he dissected each line. Then he got to the second line, and his smile tightened into a thoughtful line. How many men had mentioned their 30s recently? He had written one. He had written most of the men, but the latest 30s advert was … different.

Hm. A Catholic constable. He could probably figure out who she accused, if she accused a real person.

His brow furrowed in open skepticism. Oscar Wilde had two children! Poor things were never going to live his persecution down. It was a large part of the reason Zechariah hesitated in marrying for safety: it certainly had not worked for Wilde.

His brows furrowed even further when he read the box of the accused: #12? That would mean the same respondent he had … well, complicated interpretations of. But that was not the last of it-

Zechariah heard a noise, and jammed the newspaper into the breast of his coat.