Lord Charvill champed upon an invisible bit for a moment or two, closing the gap between himself and the girl, and muttering the name to himself in an overwrought sort of way. I told the soldier how he must go by the passage, and he found it and brought it here. ‘Then I am not mad in the least. My concept of the reluctant vampire sprung from a rabid obsession with medieval history, especially the pre-Renaissance era of the Black Plague. "Excuse me," he said, plunging his fork into a fowl, and transferring it to his plate. He drew a little sigh of relief. "Oh! Sir, if you'd seen her as I've seen her, you'd not wish her a continuance of misery. I love the soles of your feet. Too late. Stanley.
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