“If London’s a market, then this is the trading floor. Black tie and bullet bra. Gentleman, girls-on-the-make: buying and selling; bonds and securities; gold mines and diamonds and cash. The real Stock Exchange. Sit here, you’ll soon see who’s rising, who’s falling, who’s lost it all, who’s made a killing.”

“You’re in Holloway, dear. Not Hollywood, Holloway, them bleedin’ bullets were real.”

“Freedom, yes. Four in the morning. Out of our minds. The way they say opium feels, or Heaven. We had it. see? David and I. For a few moments, at least.”

“She said she’d go home in a silver Rolls Royce.”