Your name?" "Owen Wood," replied the carpenter; "I've no reason to be ashamed of it. Martin was the only person to directly address Lucy again, trying to reassure her that “real vampires melt in direct sunlight. “Not only that,” he answered. Men were going hither and thither with barrows, and ladders and ropes, removing the rubbish, and trying to support the tottering habitations. He continued to do this for the rest of the evening intermittently, in and out, among other topics. She rambles continually about Jack, and her husband, and that wretch Jonathan, to whom, as far as can be gathered from her wild ravings, she attributes all her misery. “Martin, you realize that I’m dating someone, don’t you?” She knew his reply before he uttered it. She had only to get through this, to solace Manning as much as she could, to put such clumsy plasterings on his wounds as were possible, and then, anyhow, she would be free—free to put her fate to the test.
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