Her aunt, a faded, anæmic-looking lady of somewhat too obtrusive gentility, was still sitting with her hand pressed to her heart. Seldom they molested a woman who appeared to know where she was going and who kept her glance resolutely to the fore. Anna made things for her. She was not afraid of violence, but she was afraid of something mean, some secondary kind of force. I would be chased by every curious party on this planet, by vampireseekers, by witch-hunters, by researchers, you name it. We have known men who have come here for no other purpose than to prove their unassailable virtue, who have strode into the arena of temptation, waving the—the what is it—the white flower of a blameless life, only to exchange it with marvellous facility for the violets of the Parisienne. He was going to tell me something— and he shut up.
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