She had gone into Morgan's one afternoon for a bag of salt. But after all, Mrs. He had been thrilled at her attitude about the subject, which was simply not to turn others into vampires. Her heavy pistol came up again, although she did not rise. “Why are you so distant? Why all the mystery? What are you, a narc? Double-oh-seven or something?” She steeled herself, refusing to react. She thought of her aunt and that purse that was dropped on the table, and of many troublesome and ill-requited kindnesses; she thought of the help of the Widgetts, of Teddy’s admiration; she thought, with a new-born charity, of her father, of Manning’s conscientious unselfishness, of Miss Miniver’s devotion.
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