His curiosity, his literary instincts, had been submerged by the recurring thought of the fool he had made of himself. From head to foot he was attired in the fashionable garb of the young man of the moment. Turning off again on the left, down Seacoal Lane, they arrived at the mouth of a dark, narrow alley, into which they plunged; and, at the farther extremity found a small yard, overlooked by the blank walls of a large gloomy habitation. Lucy had tried for years to find a way of not getting blood all over herself when she made a kill. It was locked. Sheila’s boys hadn’t been much help when they were around the house, anyway, they were more partial to lolling around on couches and running around with their girls. The room behind was another small antechamber, presumably linking the back rooms.
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