This was Blueskin, who burst through the trees, and sword in hand assaulted the thief-taker. ‘Pray you, mademoiselle, can you not—’ ‘No use trying to enlist Lucilla’s aid,’ snapped Roding. She was in excellent spirits, and it was not until she had taken off her hat, and was considering the question of dinner or no dinner, that she remembered that another day had passed, and she was not a whit nearer being able to pay her tomorrow’s bill. All the rest of his existence was subordinate to this pursuit; he lived for it, worked for it, kept himself in training for it. Ann Veronica blushed. My concept of the reluctant vampire sprung from a rabid obsession with medieval history, especially the pre-Renaissance era of the Black Plague.
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