I suppose this is the sort of damned rubbish—” “Oh! Ssh, Peter!” cried Miss Stanley. 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. She went down, flushed and light-hearted, to the Widgetts’ after lunch to make some final arrangements and then, as soon as her aunt had retired to lie down for her usual digestive hour, took the risk of the servants having the enterprise to report her proceedings and carried her bag and hold-all to the garden gate, whence Teddy, in a state of ecstatic service, bore them to the railway station. Lucy’s solos were exquisite in their precision and expression. And the less “anything” happened the better. Good-bye. A neighbor stopped by as the day wore on, causing her to duck and cower as he rang the doorbell over and over.
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