The brown house, almost exactly the same as the Beck’s, turned black as pitch in the gloom. Your mother arrived, and she knew me for what I was, she whispered to me curses against werewolves and vampires when I was alone in a room with her. “I never dreamt!” she said. It seemed to her that it was her duty to get up and clamor to go home to her room, to protest against his advances as an insult. Perhaps I ought not to; but this isn't a case to fiddle-faddle over.
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