Perhaps Gerald was not as clothheaded as he had thought. She had hardly noticed the loss of her dagger, so strong had been the waves of relief that attacked her on hearing that Jack had returned from death’s door. He hung over her—he and his loan to her and his connection with her and that terrible evening—a vague, disconcerting possibility of annoyance and exposure. “What about blood banks? Have you ever tried them?” “I don’t just take blood, John.
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