Wild is incapable of such baseness. She went into premature labor. “You haven’t told a lot of people in school that I’m a vampire, have you?” Lucy asked Michelle in earnest. The Enschede Bible—the one out of which she read—had been strangely mutilated. She had been obliged to spend the night in that fateful bedchamber, the faithful Kimble—who had foraged at a nearby inn, bringing back a large pie and a jug of porter for his mistress—guarding the door outside.
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