“I must take them,” she said, to help herself over her own incredulity. It reminded her viscerally of her subhuman status, stripped away of the pretenses of art, intellect, and nicety. Half an hour's labour, during which he was obliged more than once to pause to regain breath, sufficed to make a hole wide enough to allow a passage for his arm up to the elbow. He had always warned her explicitly about turning others into vampires. ‘A little promenade, madame?’ Madame Valade rose from the chintz-covered chair with alacrity and a little rustle of her silken petticoats. ‘And how do you propose to get in?’ ‘Scullery window. "My name is Kneebone," added the portly personage, stepping forward. “I had those beautiful roses from you on my first night, and a tiny little note but no address. “Thank you.
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