If you were a poet in need of rhymes, you had only to turn to a certain page. "You mean you were just sorry for him?" "As I would be for any human being in pain. I hope I haven't given any unintentional offence?" said the widow, again meekly appealing to Wood. He had been thrilled at her attitude about the subject, which was simply not to turn others into vampires. ‘You had better kill me, mademoiselle, because otherwise I shall end by strangling you. He had the same dark eyes, though lighted by a fierce flame; the same sallow complexion; the same tall, thin figure, and majestic demeanour; the same proud cast of features. I followed you in.
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