Lev had chosen a larger table than their last, Netherton saw, evidently to allow room for a full English breakfast he’d already finished, as evidenced by various side plates. For Lev, Netherton knew, a full English was stress-eating. He himself, he assumed, wasn’t expected to have breakfast, full or otherwise, though a place had been set for him opposite Lev. A girl, a real one, or in any case unfreckled, was just then putting a white bowl of café au lait at his place. "How are things in Cheyne Walk?" he asked, seating himself uncomfortably on yet another stalagmite.