“Why just take her limbs? Why not poison her, like me?” “Because, if you remember, she turned me into a vampire. Then they would leave and she would go back to being alone. Widgett was a journalist and art critic, addicted to a greenish-gray tweed suit and “art” brown ties; he smoked corncob pipes in the Avenue on Sunday morning, travelled third class to London by unusual trains, and openly despised golf. A few minutes later she left the house on foot, and taking a hansom at the corner of the Square, drove to Anna’s flat. "One'd think it rained fares, as well as blowed great guns. "Leave us, Mrs. She even touched lightly on her father’s unreasonableness. It’s a pure joy of giving—giving to YOU. ‘I thought, you see, that we might as well enter by the same way our intruder had done. Wanted a clean sweep for elbowroom.
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