Michelle stood perplexed. Accordingly, when she arrived at the Shovels, with which, as an old haunt in her bygone days of wretchedness she was well acquainted, instead of entering the principal apartment, which she saw at a glance was crowded with company of both sexes, she turned into a small room on the left of the bar, and, as an excuse for so doing, called for something to drink. “It’s Kitty’s idea,” said one, “we are to go in the vans. “It rests with them by the nature of things. And Rollo, who had been waiting for some encouraging sound, presented himself at the doorway. Her sensitive ears could hear her foster mother snoring in front of the television. Very well. A fire enveloped her, a fire which was strangely healing, filling her heart with warmth, blotting out the menace of the world.
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