Her mind turned to her own future, the endless trickle of years. She wondered why he was so distinctive, so unlike other men, and it never occurred to her for some time that this might be because she was falling in love with him. This individual apparently met with some impediment to his further progress; for he had not proceeded many steps when he turned suddenly about, and darted up the passage in which Wood stood. She had always wondered when they would start being able to trace her kills, with their expanding systems of criminal databases and computers, and now it was starting to happen. The place pulsed with music too loud to converse above. It was her past now, not Annabel’s. She followed the landlady half way up-stairs, and called up to Ann Veronica, “May I come up? It’s me! You know—Nettie Miniver!” She appeared before Ann Veronica could clearly recall who Nettie Miniver might be. Thames unfolded the drawing, smoothed out its creases, and beheld a portrait of himself.
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