“When we go indoors I will show you the offers I have refused,” she answered. “It’s precious unromantic. ” “You love—Anna?” she exclaimed. She set her fingers in the hair and tugged, drawing him to a sitting posture and stooping so that her eyes would be on the level with his when he awoke. She felt her canines grow, the hunger consuming her. The mother was far more real to her than the father; the ghostly far more substantial than the living form.
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