Nowadays, from the looks of it, people were lining up to become vampires. He felt his heart beat faster and faster—his self-restraint slipping away. She turned her head away sharply. . ". ’ ‘Where are we going?’ ‘Back to Blaye, my girl. A bobbing lantern, crossing the bridge—for she had not drawn the curtain—attracted her attention. She had now the clear and tranquil expression of one whose mind is made up. She made a slow tour of the front of the house without success, and then started back along the rooms behind, dragging open the drapes each time to get just enough light to recognise what was on the walls. It’s just to feel—one owns one’s self. Paris is not the place for two young girls. Even after this woman had gone, it seemed to Ruth that the room was kindlier than it had ever been. —Strype's Stow.
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