In the artificial light her skin had the tint and lustre of a yellow pearl. “Annabel! God in Heaven, it is Annabel!” She did not speak. ” He saw her into the train at Waterloo, and stood, a tall, grave figure, with hat upraised, as the carriage moved forward slowly and hid him. She closed her eyes and felt again an echo of the swamping warmth that had attacked her when his lips met hers. Spurlock relaxed, suddenly, and sank deeply into his pillows. Hitherto it had been qualified by her conception of all life as a compromise, by her new effort to be unexacting of life. She was going to him soon and certainly, going to his strong, embracing arms. We vampires have awesome powers of regeneration, given adequate donors.
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