“Impossible to say,” he answered. My concept of the reluctant vampire sprung from a rabid obsession with medieval history, especially the pre-Renaissance era of the Black Plague. I don’t want a family in the suburbs and Christmases at the Florida house and summers at the Hamptons. Jack Kimble stiffened, looking at his interrogator with wary anger in his face. She had to wear cream and a brown sash and a short frock and her hair down, and Gwen cream and a brown sash and a long skirt and her hair up. She herself, and one other there, recognized the interposition of something akin to tragedy. To go to him, to console him! But she stirred not from her hiding place.
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