“I suppose all life is an affair of chances. I often wonder why the young always take us ancients for nambypamby creatures. Everywhere I went and rapped at a door I found behind it another dreadful dingy woman—another fallen queen, I suppose— dingier than the last, dirty, you know, in grain. Lucy stared like an automaton at Michelle’s unconscious 262 body, revolted at her own actions to the point of shock. Wood in their favour. I would be chased by every curious party on this planet, by vampireseekers, by witch-hunters, by researchers, you name it. She drew a chair to the window and stared at the splendour of the tropical night.
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