"All have sinned and fall short of the glory of God." —Romans 3:23
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James Bradley was many things—a Cambridge alumnus, an officer, a veteran, and a botanist—but evidently, he was not a quitter. Trixie had been lost in this conversation for god-knew-how-long, listening to him challenge her every opinion without ever giving her the opportunity to finish a sentence, and while there was no clock in sight from the balcony outside of their respective apartments, she would feel safe betting the entirety of her last paycheck that it was well past eleven.
"Have you read Dickens?" he asked, leaning casually against the railing despite how cold the metal undoubtedly was. "I found him to be a delight. It's not often you see such interesting portrayals of poverty. What a wonderful world to explore, even only in literature."
Trixie made a face, casting a tentative look to the street below, where two men were shouting and drinking. "Wonderful world?" she asked.
"Yes!" he insisted. "It's so interesting to see how people can be so happy with so little."
"Very interesting," Trixie said, blinking at him. He couldn't possibly be serious, could he?
"Well, do you have a favorite author?" he asked.
Trixie debated sharing with him that her favorite author was Shakespeare, but she dreaded what he could possibly say about him and she had no interest in James Bradley ruining her opinion of the man when he most certainly had never read his plays in any serious manner. "I like a number of authors," she said instead. "I enjoy the gothic stories. Frankenstein and such."
"Do you really?" James chirped. "I find them tacky."
Of course he did.
At this point, she was considering praying. Dear Lord, I know I have sinned and am not worthy of your grace, but if you are merciful you will send me an angel to get me out of this conversation.
Not ten seconds later, the stairs up to her apartment began rattling with footsteps. Had that actually worked? Trixie turned over her shoulder, expecting some haloed Messiah to come beckon her away for more divine tasks, but instead, she found Tommy Shelby, looking like hell. So it hadn't been the will of God—just an unfortunate coincidence.
Then, Trixie remembered that Tommy and James were not supposed to be in the same room together.
"Dearest!" she hurried to exclaim. "What are you doing here?" she asked through gritted teeth, masking her panic with a sugary-sweet pitch.
