” He was intrigued. ” “Forty what?” Anna asked bewildered. He cocked an eyebrow. They sat face to face beneath an experienced-looking rucksack and a brand new portmanteau and a leather handbag, in the afternoon-boat train that goes from Charing Cross to Folkestone for Boulogne. Her head was downcast as she studied the museum-like exhibits of various dusts on the resilient tile flooring. If she spoke to a policeman she did not know what would ensue. He warned her that it drove most men mad and that the process for choosing another to become a vampire was lengthy and protracted with good reason.
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