The Coffee House was a warm, brightly lit place. The serving girls were pretty, and the men who visited the rooms seemed polite enough. But still there were whispers, ugly disquieting rumours about what happened at night when the big oak door was closed.
The young doctor had never been inside the Coffee House - and indeed had no wish to - until he met the frail, shabbily dressed girl on the Newmarket coach. And when he learned she was joining the girls who worked in the serving rooms, he decided it was time to visit the strange, secretive house on the other side of the square.
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