Night People

I've just returned from an afternoon at The Antiquer's where delicious food was eaten and Christmas and birthday presents were exchanged. I did very well out of the whole business, coming away with a first edition of DH Lawrence's love poems - The Antiquer was a little worried Grumpy might think he was flirting with me - and a copy of Harris's List of Covent Garden Ladies. Based on this extract, I'd say giving me a slim volume of love poems would be the least of The Antiquer's problems:

Mrs. D-nby, No. 82, Queen Ann-street

A bird in the hand is worth two in the bush,
Or never let the Goldfinches hop the twig.

A fine, plump lady, twenty-four years old, rather short, with sandy colour hair, fine blue eyes, rather of an amorous constitution; when in the arms of an equally lewd partner, she never wishes to fall in the arms of sleep, whilst Venus holds her court, Morpheus is kicked out of doors, as she keeps the house, any gentleman may have a night's lodging for one pound one shilling, and half the money, if he can do the business well.

Mind you, Grumpy is of Scottish heritage and he'd probably take a practical, if not opportunistic, view. Money is money after all.