I walk briskly to London Bridge where I have arranged to meet Alice. She has to collect three rents for her father as he is sick and taken to his bed. I know she is very worried that he might have the sweating sickness that carried off her mother but by the way she described his symptoms, I doubt it. I think he may just have an infection caused by the filth and excrement in the streets that he usually walks along, day after day in his calling. He is exposed to our filthy streets more than most of us are or care to be.
I get there early and realise I must wait patiently; she has told me often how long it can take to prise a few coppers rent money from some people. At the bridge there is nothing to do but loiter by the shops and houses or watch a street performer dancing jigs and singing ai
