She dreaded leaving him for the night, but separated herself finally. Don’t say anything, she thought to herself, say nothing more, Martin. As she averted her gaze, a terrible idea crossed her. Scarcely had it come to a halt, when a stalwart man shouldered his way, in spite of their opposition, through the lines of soldiery to the cart, and offered his large horny hand to the prisoner. I did not know what God had in mind then. Mind, I, Baptist Kettleby, say so. . My concept of the reluctant vampire sprung from a rabid obsession with medieval history, especially the pre-Renaissance era of the Black Plague.
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