Sheppard's habitation terminated a row of old ruinous buildings, called Wheeler's Rents; a dirty thoroughfare, part street, and part lane, running from Mint Street, through a variety of turnings, and along the brink of a deep kennel, skirted by a number of petty and neglected gardens in the direction of Saint George's Fields. Her name, he said, was as pretty as its wearer. “Why are you so distant? Why all the mystery? What are you, a narc? Double-oh-seven or something?” She steeled herself, refusing to react. “I think that’s the right name. “Quite unusually cold for the time of year,” he said. For the most part these were detached people: men practising the plastic arts, young writers, young men in employment, a very large proportion of girls and women—self-supporting women or girls of the student class. It took her only two towns away, near the Arby’s where Mike worked. He did not like it. ’ ‘Then what?’ demanded Lucilla in a hushed tone.
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