Dorothea had heard stories about young girls being kidnapped by older women; about innocent flowers being corrupted to serve all men's requirements of vice and debauchery. She brushed past this woman, pretending she had not heard and avoiding all eye contact.
Adjusting to the darkness, Dorothea's eyes picked out a bar at the far side of the wall manned by a decrepit looking man dressed in an off white smock. Around the bar were slumped men in various states of conciousness. The place reeked of tobacco smoke and stale urine.
Away from the bar were wooden seats and tables. The walls were unadorned and yellowed with unidentified stains. The only woman that Dorothea could see was in dull rags, with her arm around a young, seedy looking fellow.
There was no-one in here that looked like they might be an eminent doctor. Dorothea was unsure who to approach.
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