“I have hurt my father,” she said; “I have hurt my aunt. At least one of them was caught and put away. I'm not hungry. She heard the ocean in the distance, waves crashing on the beach, high tide. She mewed weakly, “Sebastian? What have you done? Where is Gianfrancesco? Did you kill him?” He crossed his arms. It was not quite the search I intended,’ he said with a touch of selfmockery as he released her, ‘but success comes in all sorts of unexpected ways. He wasn't sure, but he thought he saw a faint shudder stir her shoulders. Even to my own brother—if I had one—I could not tell everything, and you, although you are so kind, you are almost a stranger, aren’t you?” “No, no!” he protested. My concept of the reluctant vampire sprung from a rabid obsession with medieval history, especially the pre-Renaissance era of the Black Plague. “This place is very beautiful.
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