I took the usual way home. To escape one phase of loneliness she had plunged into another, so vast that her courage sometimes faltered. My concept of the reluctant vampire sprung from a rabid obsession with medieval history, especially the pre-Renaissance era of the Black Plague. In the midst of them there was a cart with a man in it—and that man was Jack—my son Jack—they were going to hang him. Maggot, kissing her hand to him. I—well, I lost my temper.
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