“Really, Sir John,” she said, “I don’t know how to thank you. The Lord have mercy upon you!" This ceremony concluded, the calvacade was again put in motion. Arrived at Westbourne-Green—then nothing more than a common covered with gorse and furzebushes, and boasting only a couple of cottages and an alehouse—he perceived through the hedges the objects of his search slowly ascending the gentle hill that rises from KensallGreen. “Was that before or after you became a vampire?” Michelle questioned her casually, as if it were an interview. But, indeed, he’s very human. I came here to beg you not to sign that contract.
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