The hawk-faced teacher with a shock of black hair bounced up and
down on the bed in the house in Stepney Green, his arms outstretched. His companion, wearing metal-frame glasses, was slumped in an armchair, his
trembling hand holding a bottle of gin. "We've done it Peregrine," McGaskie giggled in mid-air. "We've won the Battle of London. The Fascist filth are defeated, we've beaten Sowerbutt."
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