In the recess beside the fireplace were some open bookshelves. Sydney was strumming over a new song which stood upon the piano. ‘Dieu du ciel, for what do you take me?’ ‘I don’t know,’ he threw at her. The doll she had never owned, the cat and the dog that had never been hers: here they were, strangely incorporated in this sleeping man. ‘Well, nothing,’ uttered her betrothed crossly, before Gerald could answer. ” “Is she the one who made you into a vampire?” “Yes.
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