” “If you’re a vampire, how can you run around in the daytime?” “There are many myths about us. They joined the rabble of aspiring James Deans in torn jeans and bomber jackets and girls with Clairol black hair smoking clove cigarettes. From there I plan to travel until I reach Columbia—but any lawless country will do. “Does he live here?” he asked her presently. Alas! that the punishment of his offences should fall on her head. On a stool eight feet high sat a small boy in a faded blue cotton, his face like that of young Buddha. Beauty doesn’t mean, never has meant, anything—anything at all but you.
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