Vampires are very lonely creatures, John. "My enemy," replied her son. His smile faded. It was a boy baby cooing in swaddling clothes, a baby who had just been born to the butcher's servant across the alley, the maid Isobella who trailed behind, beaming. Bravo!—the best cly-faker of 'em all couldn't have done it better. She felt she had stepped into a world of unknown usages. She would often steal away to tryst with him in the orchard, even now she felt her loins grow warm with the memory of his ardor.
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