She saw the moonlit waters, the black shadow of the proa, the moon-fire that ran down the far edge of the bellying sail, the silent natives: no sound except the slapping of the outrigger and the low sibilant murmur of water falling away from the sides—and the beating of her heart. My concept of the reluctant vampire sprung from a rabid obsession with medieval history, especially the pre-Renaissance era of the Black Plague. ‘Do not think—’ he panted, ‘that I am finished—with you, mademoiselle. As to following, there was no one. You know my fixed determination. ” “I sent a telegram, aunt,” said Ann Veronica.
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