Socks and shoes were harder to find, and she ended up wearing men’s athletic tube socks and a pair of dust caked flip-flops that had sat forlornly in Locker 49 since 1978. “Then we must try and make London endurable for you,” he remarked cheerfully. It was horrible, but she must do it. ‘But a spy I am not. ’ ‘You are not on my side at all, and it will be better that, instead of saying such things to him, you would say them to yourself. Like a thorough-bred racer, he would sustain twice as much fatigue as a person of heavier mould. ” “Bit starchy,” said Ann Veronica, and altered the key abruptly. He was an old, skilled vampire. “Gods!” cried Ann Veronica, and kept him standing.
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