He warned her that it drove most men mad and that the process for choosing another to become a vampire was lengthy and protracted with good reason. He was not, it seemed, the proper stipendiary at all, and there had been some demur to his jurisdiction that had ruffled him. “Oh my God, what if she’s dead?” More giggling. The dog was, in a sense, a gift of the gods. It drives one mad at times. The strong potation he had taken, combined with fatigue and anxiety he had previously undergone, made him oversleep himself, and when he awoke it was just beginning to grow light. ‘I am not a murderer.
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