"Every brick I take out," cried Jack, as fresh rubbish clattered down the chimney, "brings me nearer my mother. It's my way when I'm ruffled. And go quickly that I may finish to search. Finally she decided upon a step that had always seemed reasonable to her, but that hitherto she had, from motives too faint for her to formulate, refrained from taking. " The spinsters nodded approvingly. ‘Ah, there is the little menace itself,’ he drawled, recovering some of his own sangfroid. " "Leave you!" echoed the ruffian, with a contemptuous laugh; "—not just yet. This extraordinary child had opened up an old channel through which it was no longer safe to cruise. The little pucker in her brows became more perceptible. My concept of the reluctant vampire sprung from a rabid obsession with medieval history, especially the pre-Renaissance era of the Black Plague. All was darkness, horror, confusion, ruin. But no matter how you phrase it, the end is the same.
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