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LADYHAWKE
The bar was old; a long ago given a sniff of paint type of boozer that had been providing a scrap of goo-plated carpet and scent-soaked atmosphere for the pint swillers of Lexington and Broadwick streets. Pip said it was meant to be haunted, though who knows why any ghost would hang around in such a dingy outpost of an other-time Soho.
We settle down to a cheap draught lager and Pip Brown starts filling me in on the details of her alter ego Ladyhawke.