’ For the moment I thought it was a telegram from Gwen. There was nothing in his manner to suggest the misery of the preceding night. “Why do you kill me?” Michelle asked. You would do best not to admit to such things either after becoming a vampire. 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. It was still profoundly dark; but the wind, which had begun to blow with some violence, chased the clouds rapidly across the heavens, and dispersed the vapours hanging nearer the earth. Wild," he said, in a sarcastic tone, but with great firmness; "a person of your well-known sagacity must be aware that some secrets are dangerous to the possessor. It is foolish, she murmured to herself, foolish.
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