"The delicacy of your discourse is a continual wonder to me, sir." Daniel sighed, for in truth, the Royal Society had been thrown out of that mouldering pile after Hooke—who, for many years, had defended their lease with his usual vicious tenacity—had died in 1703. Without Hooke, they had only been able to delay the eviction. And they had delayed it superbly, but as of four years ago they were in new quarters off Fleet Street. "Those of us who sank our money into the bonds that paid for the new building, might employ stronger language than ‘bad luck.’ "