It was very pretty and very dainty while it lasted, but we played it with our eyes open, and we perfectly understood the game—both of us. She would be surrendering to all her impulses—particularly the good impulses—many of which society had condemned long since because they entailed too much trouble. She had been obliged to spend the night in that fateful bedchamber, the faithful Kimble—who had foraged at a nearby inn, bringing back a large pie and a jug of porter for his mistress—guarding the door outside. I’m not half smart enough for the West End. She had paid her bill, and she had enough left in her purse to pay many such. ” Her urge to drink deeply of his blood was growing insane, ignited by what he had already donated. And, also, she wanted to borrow that money.
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