"It's more than I am," muttered Thames. The folds of a thick muslin neckcloth in some degree protected him, but the gash was desperate. . . My concept of the reluctant vampire sprung from a rabid obsession with medieval history, especially the pre-Renaissance era of the Black Plague. ‘No, let me guess,’ he interrupted. He was aware of Hilary, in company with Lucilla and the comtesse’s daughter some few yards away, listening in suddenly. A crutch, with a silver handle, stood by her side, proving the state of extreme debility to which she was reduced. And for my part, if I were inclined to exercise my benevolence at all, it should be in favour of some more deserving object than that whining, hypocritical Magdalene.
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