ibrating with noise and people, the rasp of motor horns, the cries of street traders She broke off, staring at the cross dangling from Karl's fingers. ighteenth century clothes, a frock coat and breeches of blue satin, white stockings, buckled shoes. Her tiredness had the charm of a sleepy kitten, and her red hair was aglow in the flat grey daylight.
The man was in agony almost beyond speech, but he reached out to claw at the vampire's legs. And like learning to swim by leaping into the Arctic Ocean, it was killing her. Why did someone have to arrive now? Charlotte thought. All that anguish she could put right… yet the one prospect she truly could not bear was being parted from Karl.
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