‘Sapristi,’ he shouted angrily. Have you not given your life to God? Do you not repent?’ Coming to the bed, Melusine sat beside her old nurse and took hold of one of her hands. He had always warned her explicitly about turning others into vampires. The contact is disturbing; and we prefer going around the fact to facing it. It’s just to feel—one owns one’s self. He pulled on his pants, his yellow shirt with the ridiculous horse logo, his brown socks, and shoes. ‘Pardon, mademoiselle, but perhaps your father went to England, after all, and —’ ‘My father went to Italy,’ interrupted Melusine, her heart tightening with the familiar sensation of loss. “I knew,” she said, in a low despairing tone, “that people would talk.
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