"Had I not been the guilty wretch I am," he cried, bursting into an agony of tears, "she would never have died thus. The blast once more swept over the agitated river: whirled off the sheets of foam, scattered them far and wide in rain-drops, and left the raging torrent blacker than before. Loneliness. Bête, she told herself fiercely. I am going to smoke a little here, and then I shall go to the study. “I forbid it!” she said firmly. “I opened my eyes, and she was bending over my bedside. Never before had any human being kissed her lips. In any place her beauty would have been an uncommon thing. Capes was something superadded. Vampires are very lonely creatures, John.
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