“Going to visit our little friend the vampire?” “What?” He asked, incredulous. It was precious for two reasons: it was the photograph of her beautiful mother whom she could not remember, and it would identify her to the aunt in Hartford. ‘I am extremely displeased. She was aware of him—a silk-hatted, shiny-black figure on the opposite side of the Avenue; and then, abruptly and startlingly, he crossed the road and saluted and spoke to her. It’s a damned hard thing to do.
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