Diane seemed more interested in the prestige of her violin skills than in the more sordid subject of her vampirism. The blast shrieked, as if exulting in its wrathful mission. He remembered little whispered speeches of hers, so like the Annabel of Paris, so unlike the woman he loved, a hundred little things should have told him long ago. “Why destroy me, child? There are so many secrets I 231 could tell you. ‘But of course. He has hanged twelve of his associates already.
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