The van started with a jerk and rumbled on its way. He told her something about music, the great world outside. She could not risk going in the door, lest she run into Larry or Cathy drinking a nocturnal glass of milk or Mike raiding the refrigerator for snacks. Annabel shook her head. We vampires have awesome powers of regeneration, given adequate donors. The flowers upon the mantel-shelf were withered and drooping—she had gathered them. The sun was all but gone now, the horizon a deep shade of purple. “I shall probably want you to come down to the ‘Unusual’ to-morrow morning,” he said.
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