’ Chapter Five ‘Now then, young Jack,’ Gerald said, turning to the lad, who was sitting in the place lately vacated by his self-appointed mistress, but in a state of far less relaxation. Babies produced of vampire women are the real monsters, Lucia. Go away!” “Why kill this one, Lucia? She shall be missed. She marvelled at his apparent imperviousness to the heat. She showered after she heard the door shut and the cars pull out of the driveway. Her little bedsitting-room was like a lair, and she went out from it into this vast, dun world, with its smoke-gray houses, its glaring streets of shops, its dark streets of homes, its orange-lit windows, under skies of dull copper or muddy gray or black, much as an animal goes out to seek food. So she said: “I won’t come home. Old Kesterton, choleric-looking individual nearly opposite, will curse the cooking till he’s black in the face, but he never misses a dinner.
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