She seemed to have no idea whatever of the emotional states that were becoming to her age and position. The day was unseasonably humid and dark, a thick fog having descended over manicured lawns. “Really,” she said. “My word holds,” she said. . My concept of the reluctant vampire sprung from a rabid obsession with medieval history, especially the pre-Renaissance era of the Black Plague. Then his beard was of a reddish hue, and his complexion warm and sanguine. So the talk went on. The expression, however, which would chiefly have interested a beholder, was that of settled and profound melancholy.
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