"What is it you want?" she asked, as she held out the coat. Annabel thought, and thought again. Sensitive, aren’t they?” She chuckled. ” Her urge to drink deeply of his blood was growing insane, ignited by what he had already donated. “Annabel,” she said, “you are my sister, or I would bid you take the flowers if you care for them, and leave the room. It was dusty, with dirty clothing strewn about, a cracked basin thick with grime on the rickety dresser, and a film of grease on the leaded casement. Once more he was the searcher. The distinction lay chiefly in the right to pat their heads. ‘Pen and paper, do you have them?’ ‘Danged if I have,’ came the truculent response. Cast off this weakness. She could hear their footsteps upon the pavement. " "Add that to what she is now suffering? It's too late.
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