“My dear Anna,” he answered. Michelle's home was one of the smaller palaces, made solidly of red brick with charming black shutters and window boxes full of drooping violets. This unexpected interpolation might spoil the efficacy of all that had gone before. He did not know—and probably never would unless she told him—that it was very easy (and comfortable for a woman) to fall into slatternly ways in this latitude. It was situated off a little hallway that led also to the kitchens and the back door to the outside. Both of them would be committing novel and unforgettable acts. To be alone with her, in idleness, was an intolerable thought. . ” “Do you drink blood?” He stood up.
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