” Her urge to drink deeply of his blood was growing insane, ignited by what he had already donated. Lucia confined herself to her quarters, wondering when they would flee to the country as so many other houses had done. Such was the condition of his mind that the danger exhilarated rather than depressed him. ” “It is you,” he cried, “you, who are talking folly, when you speak of friendship between you and me. ‘I wish you joy of the wench.
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