"What the view would have been during a Luftwaffe raid. Searchlights, flak-bursts, very visually active." Behind her, at the far end of the space, stood a small, fungoid-looking, pseudo-primitive structure, a blackly gleaming antique motorcycle propped in front of it. To one side, a thickly crowded table of more of her nonsense. He hoped he wouldn’t be required to enter the foul-looking hut, but knew that that wouldn’t be like her. "Visited the county lately?" she asked, meaning Lowbeer’s first adopted stub.