She traveled through back yards and quiet side streets on her way home, careful to avoid the main thoroughfares, fraught as they were with people in cars who would recognize her person or notice her dress. "He never let me keep a dog or a cat about the house. The Old Mint III. ” Her urge to drink deeply of his blood was growing insane, ignited by what he had already donated. Asking her way once or twice, she passed along Fleet Street into the Strand, and crossed Trafalgar Square, into Piccadilly. Leaving the library by the same door she had first used to enter it earlier that day, she crossed the two little antechambers and moved on through the rooms. ‘Who have lately joined us,’ she said, adding sotto voce, ‘A very great tragedy. “No,” she said, under her breath, “you can’t face it.
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