’ ‘Just what I thought, miss. Wood. He was an old, skilled vampire. Her figure, though slight, had all the fulness of health; and her complexion—still pale, but without its former sickly cast,—contrasted agreeably, by its extreme fairness, with the dark brows and darker lashes that shaded eyes which, if they had lost some of their original brilliancy, had gained infinitely more in the soft and chastened lustre that replaced it. They smelled good, but they no longer smelled like food. They cleaned up the mess as best they could and she went home with him docilely. “It does nothing but sit there. .
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