The afternoon sunlight slanted in through the gaps in the brick building across Fleet Street, falling on the windowsill of the third-floor office of Empire Publishing Company.
The joyful lunch gathering was over, and before Albert got into the carriage, he even turned around to bid farewell to everyone.
When that black four-wheel carriage disappeared at the corner of the street, the editorial office resumed its usual bustle.
Eld took out his pipe, lit it, and with his feet up on the table, lazily asked Tennyson, "Alfred, what do you think of this Albert fellow?"
"What do I think?" Tennyson lifted his head, as if he hadn't clearly heard, and repeated.
"Yeah." Eld puffed out smoke rings as he spoke enthusiastically, "I quite like him actually. That kid's family should be pretty decent, though he's a bit uptight. If he really tries to find a path with us here in the future, I'll have him be my personal secretary."
