‘Gerald, what have you been about? Dorothée tells me that you were flirting outrageously with Madame Valade on Monday night. Also, you must send someone to fetch my horse—at least, it is not mine but I have borrowed it to come here—because it will be dark very soon and—’ ‘Woof! Hold it, hold it,’ begged the sergeant. What was the objection? She found it impossible to look her own diffidence in the face. I would be chased by every curious party on this planet, by vampireseekers, by witch-hunters, by researchers, you name it. Crack went the whip, and away floundered the heavy vehicle through the deep ruts of the ill-kept road, or rather lane, (for it was little better,) which, then, led across Southampton Fields. She stopped eating. Here, where every element of her surroundings was tawdry and commonplace, and before this young man of vulgar origin and appearance, it was striking. She heard him crash against it, and turned the key in the lock. But not today.
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