She walked back along the path and crunched over the gravel,
heading towards the side door the drunken, whiskery man in thewax jacket had recently departed from. She took a deep breath andstepped inside.
It was warm.
And quiet.
She was in some kind of hallway or corridor. Terracotta floortiles. Low wood panelling and, above, wallpaper full of illustrationsof sycamore leaves.
She walked down the little corridor and into the main pub areawhich she had peeked at through the window. She jumped as acat appeared out of nowhere.