Adeane had been taken in hand by the forces attacking Parkside and swung down from the balcony of the boarding house very carefully. They were keen to see that she did not get hurt, but they were also wondering whether she would snap at them. Vicious, good-looking chicks were often used by Vauclare as bait.
A couple of policewomen examined every part of her in a tent set up in the grounds of a nearby school. A bowl of crushed garlic was pushed under her nose.
‘She made a face at it,’ the WPC told her sergeant, ‘but it didn’t turn her up like it did that other one we had in earlier. I think this girl’s all right.’
Mixing with these people, suspicious though they were of her, stimulated some old-fashioned sense in Adeane Wentworth’s brain. She shuddered as she thought of some of the things she had seen and heard at Parkside, including the display of fang by Tyrone Cass, a youth she had a long, long time ago sized up as excellent partner material.
(As for Eric Vauclare however, her Eric, who had shown at most a slight glimmering of ivory during lovemaking, he still seemed to her first and foremost caring and loving, more human than the humans.)