Thursday, December 22nd, 1833
Three Days to Christmas
THE LACK OF sleep and terror from last night were a toxic combination, rendering my eyes sore but my resolve piqued. This time yesterday Marley was the last person I ever saw myself speaking with again. A mere year ago, I had broken off my referral relationship with Marley when I had caught him going through confidential papers on my desk. He stood there bold as brass, with a pad and pencil making notes of wealthy men that I had been developing as contacts. But now, with the chill morning air whipping my face, my head was poking out the cab window and I was clutching my hat, shouting and cursing at the horseman to drive his horses faster and deliver me to my former business associate.
“Sit down before you do yourself an injury!” call
