“Is this true, Annabel? Is he dead?” She nodded. “I know nothing about your wife. Diane seemed more interested in the prestige of her violin skills than in the more sordid subject of her vampirism. His wife met him at the door, and into her hands he delivered his little charge. His job as a painter was wearing him down acutely as he aged. I don’t think of you as a kid. And when you reflect how much at heart your poor mother, whose loss we must ever deplore, had our union, you will, I am persuaded, no longer refuse me. Ennison listened, and his eyes glowed. She is Bohemian to the fingertips. "Is it poison?" she asked.
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