’ He sat looking her over in silence for a moment or two, his thoughts revolving around the name and the way it fitted so exquisitely on quite another set of features. Wood made no reply; but, hastily kissing his weeping daughter, and bidding her be of good cheer, hurried off. She had even tried a needle and a catheter on a victim once, but had found that the process was so frustrating and slow that she barely gained any sustenance and had done the worst thing imaginable: wasted a kill. She longed to allow him to kiss her again, to touch her again. He was just getting cross about your being late for dinner—you know his way—when it came. Luckily, they were not easily discomposed. “How do you feel?” she asked. He meant to take her out of this room, perhaps even out of the house.
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