The Frenchman had moved back into Piccadilly from Down Street, at which the lad following him had immediately sauntered away a yard or two. Martin was the only person to directly address Lucy again, trying to reassure her that “real vampires melt in direct sunlight. “Pretend,” he said, “that all I have said hasn’t been said. I’ve got too much work. So far as I am concerned, I am just now a hopeless nonentity. “Does he live here?” he asked her presently. “You’re very nice, both of you,” she said gently. . Lucy stood in front of the piano.
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