Nor as I’ve to put up with a French spy in my parlour—’ ‘Peste, how you talk,’ interrupted Melusine impatiently, barely taking in his complaints. The afternoon was her own; but from eight until midnight she sat beside the patient. He, however, made no remark at the time, but instantly prepared to set out. ‘Sit down, won’t you?’ He crossed back to Roding and said low-voiced. He was an old, skilled vampire. The horror of those few minutes was still with her. She realized more and more the quality of the brink upon which she stood—the dreadful readiness with which in certain moods she might plunge, the unmitigated wrongness and recklessness of such a self-abandonment.
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