" "Poor child!" muttered Trenchard, abstractedly; "the whole scene upon the river is passing before me. “Here we are,” he said, “shining through each other like light through a stained-glass window. Nuns, I mean. " "Perhaps that was it. He hadn't gambled or played the horses or hit the booze back there in little old New York…. It is at the lodge that we stay. He leaned towards her as though anxious to see more of her face than that faint delicate profile gleaming like marble in the uncertain light. “I’m a vampire.
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