” “Is she the one who made you into a vampire?” “Yes. I went to her rooms to-night. Miss Mary to the life. Thames unfolded the drawing, smoothed out its creases, and beheld a portrait of himself. The same pale white buttocks, the same freckles in the same unchanging patterns on her collarbone that all of her mother’s potions had never been able to erase. " "To make him forget the knock?" "Precisely. " "Don't listen to him, father," cried Thames, unconscious of what was passing; "there are plenty of people outside.
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