PSL: Night is falling like a bloody axe

[stillcounts]

It was true that Julius Selwyn had gone to a party that night, as would be gossiped about liberally the next day. He'd gotten a bit drunk and flirted with Amanda Welch, who encouraged it, and Susan Martin, who permitted it, and - a few people claimed - Ben Hightower, who had not appreciated it in the slightest.

It was also true that he was not drunk at all now, so-late-it-was-early, and that he was wandering a mostly deserted street in St. John's Wood in a distinctly more utilitarian getup than he'd been wearing earlier in the evening. He had a loose-fitting leather jacket over what the very sharp-eyed might identify as a holster housing an antique pistol, giving him the air of a boy who was unsure whether he was playing a Hell's Angel or a pirate. The image was further confused by the large, antique book under his arm.

There was plenty of moonlight. That not entirely incidental.