The sing-song girl, her fiddle broken, was beating her forehead upon the floor and wailing: Ai, ai! Ai, ai! Spurlock—or Taber, as he called himself—sat slumped in a chair, staring with glazed eyes at nothing, absolutely uninterested in the confusion for which he was primarily accountable. There's a hundred pounds too much. Martin was the only person to directly address Lucy again, trying to reassure her that “real vampires melt in direct sunlight. “We have been all this time—Only your queer code of honor—Honor! Once you begin with love you have to see it through.
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