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. Outside stood a stocky, combat boot-clad girl of seventeen with a teased mass of spiky bottle-black hair. “Concern me!” she repeated fiercely. She found it extremely difficult to infuse an air of quiet correctitude into her return through the window, and when she was safely inside she waved clinched fists and executed a noiseless dance of rage. She warmed to him fast, her anger was much harder to carry than the pleasant everyday neutrality of affection. “You are in trouble,” he said. Melusine tapped on it. A queer nut. 1. Suddenly she thrust her head out of the window.
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