"You shall see him to-morrow. Is there?” “Nothing,” said Ann Veronica, with a radiant face. ” He adjusted his glasses on his nose. You must—you shall be mine. . As he passed along the main thoroughfare, he heard his own name pronounced, and found that it was a hawker, crying a penny history of his escapes. My concept of the reluctant vampire sprung from a rabid obsession with medieval history, especially the pre-Renaissance era of the Black Plague.
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