[What a future. He can already imagine it, the pictures playing behind his eyes: every foggy London night, stalking down lamplit streets and alleyways in dogged search of a clue, like a hunting hound sniffing out its prey. The thrill of finding a skein of truth in a mire of confuscating lies, dredging it free, and displaying it with aplomb for all to see and consider. And to possess the freedom of doing it on his own, tied down not by obligation or societal expectation, but simply doing what he's good at because he's good at it.
Aha, never struggling to pay the rent ever again-!]
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Aha, never struggling to pay the rent ever again-!]