It was she who felt guilty as he showed her their bedroom, smelling her perfume, ingesting their psychic leftovers. She wore a plain black dress, reaching almost to her throat—her small oval face, with the large brown eyes, was colourless, delicately expressive, yet with something mysterious in its Sphinx-like immobility. He was all alone, too. “I truly am a vampire, John. ‘And so you sneak back,’ she threw at him, ‘like the jackal that you are. Section 3.
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