She visited the corner that had been her own little garden—her forget-me-nots and candytuft had long since been elbowed into insignificance by weeds; she visited the raspberry-canes that had sheltered that first love affair with the little boy in velvet, and the greenhouse where she had been wont to read her secret letters. "Do you compare your love—a love which all may purchase—with hers? No one has ever loved me. "If this is the case, where is she?" "In Bedlam," replied the thief-taker, with a Satanic grin. "But vere'll be the use o' vinnin'? you von't live to pay me. " The spinster did not ask if the mother lived; the question was inconsequent. She munched her bland Whopper as he wolfed three in a row, stuffing his mouth with half a dozen French fries at a time. Diane seemed more interested in the prestige of her violin skills than in the more sordid subject of her vampirism. Perhaps he had had money in the coat, back in Hong-Kong, and had been robbed without knowing it. It was scarcely likely that she would have accepted his aid. As they passed beneath the thick trees that shade the road to Dollis Hill, the gloom was almost impenetrable.
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