“I can’t imagine it,” said Miss Miniver. Jack's complexion was that of a gipsy; Darrell's as fresh and bright as a rose. The fellow swore lustily, in a voice which Jack instantly recognised as that of Quilt Arnold, and vainly attempted to rise and draw his sword. She could not help thinking of Capes. Nowadays, from the looks of it, people were lining up to become vampires.
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