Here dwell together still two men of note
Who never lived and so can never die:
How very near they seem, yet how remote
That age before the world went all awry.
But still the game's afoot for those with ears
Attuned to catch the distant view-halloo:
England is England yet, for all our fears--
Only those things the heart believes are true.
A yellow fog swirls past the window-pane
As night descends upon this fabled street:
A lonely hansom splashes through the rain,
The ghostly gas lamps fail at twenty feet.
Here, though the world explode, these two survive,
And it is always eighteen ninety-five.
This is by way of noting that I've read one and a third of the Mary Russell series. Was desperately relieved that The Beekeeper's Apprentice didn't do the horribly obvious thing it looked like it might do. (Well, with all the ret-conning of the canon, anything might be possible.) But I grow just a little irked by King's dismissal of Watson, good-hearted generous Watson who is so not Holmes' equal while Mary so obviously is. So I shall remind me of canon and fanon in this respect, to say nothing of Yotsuya Simone's flat-out BL take, which otherwise I might want to forget.