Personal Darkness by Tanith Lee

cold.
    There had to be a fire, even in summer.
    "Look," said Jimbo, "poor little bird."
    "You let it be," said Sedge.
    And deep in his drink of sour red wine, Baldy said nothing at all.
    But Jimbo had had a daughter once, in another life, and finally he got up and crept along the bank toward the small dark girl.
    "Here," said Jimbo, "here, girlie. D'ya want to come down to the fire? We won't hurt ya."
    The girl turned a white face with dark lips and eyes.
    "No, thank you."
    "It's warm. It's better. The fire keeps the rats off."
    "No."
    And down the incline, Sedge stood up by the fire in his cardboard raincoat, and he bellowed. Sedge was a devil. He would not share.
    Jimbo left the girl and went back, and Sedge seized his arm as if he would kill him.
    "Leave her alone I said."
    "But she's just a kid."
    "The streets of London," said Sedge, "are paved with child." He sometimes said these things. He pulled Jimbo down. "Bad. She's bad."
    And Baldy hiccuped, and passed the wine.
    Ruth sat above the river, listening to it. At a distance, far enough, the tramps' fire crackled. After a time, she went through the contents of Amanda Mills's bag. There were T-shirts and clean underclothes, Kleenex, makeup, toothpaste and deodorant, and money.
    Ruth was hungry, although she had gone to a burger bar for a double hamburger and french fries, fruit pie and cream. She was always hungry now. Sometimes she bought Kit-Kats and Mars, and ate them, or bananas and apples off a stall.
    That had been the first thing, after the fire. Hunger. She had gone over the heath away from the sea, and her face had hurt very much, where he—Adamus—had struck her, her eye swollen and her mouth bruised. But she had still wanted to eat. She did not look back. She had killed all the Scarabae. Burned them up. Only she remained.
    And Rachaela. Probably Rachaela—Mommy. But Ruth did not think about this.
    She was like a butterfly freed from a chrysalis. A hungry butterfly.
    The night heath was familiar, as if she had been out on it before. Things moved about in the undergrowth and she hoped to see an owl. But she saw nothing.
    She came to a road, and she had known it would be there.
    As Ruth stood looking at the road in the dark dimness of early morning, a car spun out of the blackness behind two beams of light. It was going very fast, and Ruth stepped aside. The car flashed by her. Then pulled up with a complaint of brakes. It sat on the road, and Ruth did not move. Then the car reversed slowly back toward her.
    "My God, I thought I was seeing things."
    The man was middle-aged, plump, with a shiny-clean face and black line of mustache.
    Ruth, in her dress which had been designed in 1910, her sensible school shoes, her skeins of hair, looked in at him.
    "Your face—" said the man. "What's happened?"
    She had been told not to speak to strange men. But all that had changed.
    "My boyfriend," said Ruth, "hit me."
    "The bastard. My God, I'd better get you to a doctor. You'd better get in. Do you live round here…"
    "No," said Ruth. She went around and opened the door of the car, a Ford Sierra. "I don't want a doctor."
    "All right. We'll see."
    Ruth was in the car, and the man reached over and shut her door.
    "Do you want to go home?" said the man. He sounded coaxing, but this was a constant tone, with him. He was a rep, it was his business always to persuade, to something.
    "I can't," said Ruth. "Where are you going?"
    "Gavil Mount," he said. It might have been a crater on the moon, and in any case it would not matter, since they would not get there.
    "That will do," said Ruth.
    "Right you are, then."
    He started up the car and they raced forward, parting the night.
    The man was Tom Robbins, so he told her. At the moment his line was excellent little traveling packs for young ladies. She could take a look at his supplies, and see. Ruth did so. Each pack was in a floral case, and comprised a toothbrush, comb and brush, cleansing tissues, manicure scissors, nail file and