Doesn’t matter a bit to me. My concept of the reluctant vampire sprung from a rabid obsession with medieval history, especially the pre-Renaissance era of the Black Plague. ’ ‘Fiddle,’ scoffed Miss Froxfield. The fellow swore lustily, in a voice which Jack instantly recognised as that of Quilt Arnold, and vainly attempted to rise and draw his sword. He smiled grandly; she could feel the radiance of his approval from across the wedding table.
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