His eyes were bright, and his voice had in it an unaccustomed timbre. ‘That is the man who tries to kill me, but he wounded instead my servant. Thank you for the books. Only in her eyes there seemed to be some apprehension of the fact that the young man’s clothes and manners were alike undesirable things. The dance itself was anticlimactic, with teenagers trying their best to look the part of adult sophisticates on the dance floor. 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. All men are bloody fucking hypocrites. Its smooth surface soothed her nerves. In another minute, the tramp of horses' feet told that the perpetrators of the outrage had effected their escape.
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