Sentence The Onehundredandtwentyeighth
And, strange to relate, it was just at about that same time that Lord Justice John Linkumdoddie, having been for his morning paper – The Scotsman, of course – and returned to his flat above the High Street, not far from Parliament House and the Court of Session, had brought in a tray with
coffee, crumpets and jam to his lover, Frankie Leigh, who was just beginning to wake and whose hair was still tousled and framed her shiny, still sleep-puffy face, with a jungle of auburn curls; she noticed, though, a serious look on his face and was instantly alert, giving him a questioning glance; “two things, hen,” said the eminent Judge, in his mellifluous voice which she could listen to all day and night, and giving his lover a kiss, “yon Tammy Shanter's spread about me and Tavish being the Mystery Men on the Stone of Scone Heist – as she keeps calling it; we're not particularly concerned about it, though there will be two large and vociferous camps: the Nats who'll want us elevated to the Pantheon of Martyrs and Heroes along with the others involved, and those self-same others involved (who were, after all, the principals, while we were just drivers) together with other strange kindred spirits, like the Tories, Liberals and Socialists still all tarred with the 'NO' brush, who will question why we should go unpunished when several served time for their parts; I'm honestly not concerned for myself, but if this Shanter lassie instigates a wider frenzy and the red-tops get stuck in, making a cacophony like a million cicadas they might uncover some connections to The Justice League of Edinburgh, which would be unfortunate for my nephews and nieces; oh, and the other, rather more important, thing is that I just saw a police officer in plain clothes – you can always tell them by their boots – going up to Elginbrod's Chambers with a fishy look about him, as if he had a bad smell under his nose, perhaps of sulphur, certainly of venery, for he had the look of a huntsman following the scent of his quarry,” and when Frankie asked what was odd about a Bobby going to see an Advocate, Linkumdoddie told her which Bobby it was and her eyes widened in shock!
And, strange to relate, it was just at about that same time that Lord Justice John Linkumdoddie, having been for his morning paper – The Scotsman, of course – and returned to his flat above the High Street, not far from Parliament House and the Court of Session, had brought in a tray with
coffee, crumpets and jam to his lover, Frankie Leigh, who was just beginning to wake and whose hair was still tousled and framed her shiny, still sleep-puffy face, with a jungle of auburn curls; she noticed, though, a serious look on his face and was instantly alert, giving him a questioning glance; “two things, hen,” said the eminent Judge, in his mellifluous voice which she could listen to all day and night, and giving his lover a kiss, “yon Tammy Shanter's spread about me and Tavish being the Mystery Men on the Stone of Scone Heist – as she keeps calling it; we're not particularly concerned about it, though there will be two large and vociferous camps: the Nats who'll want us elevated to the Pantheon of Martyrs and Heroes along with the others involved, and those self-same others involved (who were, after all, the principals, while we were just drivers) together with other strange kindred spirits, like the Tories, Liberals and Socialists still all tarred with the 'NO' brush, who will question why we should go unpunished when several served time for their parts; I'm honestly not concerned for myself, but if this Shanter lassie instigates a wider frenzy and the red-tops get stuck in, making a cacophony like a million cicadas they might uncover some connections to The Justice League of Edinburgh, which would be unfortunate for my nephews and nieces; oh, and the other, rather more important, thing is that I just saw a police officer in plain clothes – you can always tell them by their boots – going up to Elginbrod's Chambers with a fishy look about him, as if he had a bad smell under his nose, perhaps of sulphur, certainly of venery, for he had the look of a huntsman following the scent of his quarry,” and when Frankie asked what was odd about a Bobby going to see an Advocate, Linkumdoddie told her which Bobby it was and her eyes widened in shock!
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