Here, Peter," he added to a curly-headed lad, who was playing on one of the grassy tombs, "ask your father to step this way. But for me it doesn’t matter. The open windows were above them now and, unless the intruder were to lean out, they could not possibly be seen. Capes saw her, felt for her, cared for her greatly, even if he did not love her. Her cheeks seemed to burn, her veins ran riot, and her heart was beating so fast that she was sure he must feel it through his scarlet coat. She felt her canines grow, the hunger consuming her. “You needn’t be anxious about that! I shall contrive to live. The imbecile.
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