Lucia confined herself to her quarters, wondering when they would flee to the country as so many other houses had done. Dear me, what a nuisance it is to have a pseudo husband shot down upon one from the skies. It was Ramage, the occupant of the big house at the end of the Avenue. Nowadays, from the looks of it, people were lining up to become vampires. Ramage, that iron-gray man of the world, appeared dressed in a bowler hat and a suit of hard gray, astride of a black horse. She had arranged for a supper of tea, a boiled egg, and some tinned peaches.
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