. She rested for a half hour in heaven on earth, feeling herself drift in and out of sleep. Hill was exchanging greetings with his hostess, and salutations around the table. She felt her canines growing. "Enough," said the widow, gratefully. She moved her elbow nearer to him and spoke in a still lower tone. The same pale white buttocks, the same freckles in the same unchanging patterns on her collarbone that all of her mother’s potions had never been able to erase. Taber is the name.
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