I had no idea how long I had been running through streets and alleyways...
I had found another dark place in which to hide, an alcove that led to somebody’s basement. The door was covered in spiders’ webs (not splyders’ webs - wait - where on earth did I learn such a word? Splyder? Is that a real thing? Perhaps there really is something wrong with my mind) and the window was broken; it was a disused, abandoned cottage that would make the perfect hiding place.
My chest was heaving in and out and I had a stitch that made me double over. It took me some time to catch my breath. The sensation of having fled for my life seemed familiar to me - as though I had done this sort of thing before - but I had no clue as to when or why. A heaviness settled upon my spirit as tangible as a physical weight.
But there shone a small ray of light - the fellow had accepted me as a Londoner and an Englishman, so surely that was what I was. Wasn’t I? I believed that, I had found out one small piece of the puzzle, and that was a beginning. It wasn’t a greatly comforting insight, but beggars can’t be choosers.
I tried to think, to make a plan, but a great weariness consumed me and I couldn’t help but close my eyes. I crawled into a foetal position on the bricks, hugging myself against the cold, and slept.