[ There's something about the way that the young woman looks off with such a sullen expression that worries Strange. He doesn't know her from Adam, of course. But he still occasionally clings to the idea that even now, even after all this, he is a gentleman. So there's a light smile on his face as he muses, ]

There was a highwayman before my time, a man named Dick Turpin—which if he was before my time, I loathe to think how old he must seem to you. I'm certain he was your regular run-of-the-mill ruffian. But he had something that your average ruffian lacked: good press. If you believe the ballads and the broadsides, he was an avenging figure who rode his horse two hundred miles in a day—though I think the ballads were quite cagey about how the horse felt about that excursion.