Everywhere I went and rapped at a door I found behind it another dreadful dingy woman—another fallen queen, I suppose— dingier than the last, dirty, you know, in grain. The spinsters had purchased one grass-linen tablecloth; the girl and the young man had purchased nothing. He was always doing his best to call her attention to the fact that he was a man of spirit and quality and experience, and she a young and beautiful woman, and that all sorts of constructions upon their relationship were possible, trusting her to go on from that to the idea that all sorts of relationships were possible. Diane seemed more interested in the prestige of her violin skills than in the more sordid subject of her vampirism. “It is strange that we should have met Annabel,” she said.
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