"What poet was that?" "Stevenson. Mike chortled. I can’t imagine Londoners—particularly interested in me. Her long arms handled the sword with a memorized ease and grace. She looked at him curiously. Babies produced of vampire women are the real monsters, Lucia. But I see now. It was Ramage, the occupant of the big house at the end of the Avenue. \" She whispered back. "Now your curiosity's satisfied, child," continued Kneebone, "perhaps, you'll attend to my orders. Capes was rather a discovery.
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