In a moment or two, Madame Valade recovered her sangfroid. She had never fasted before as a vampire, and a horrible twisting pain emerged in her gut, shaking her legs with muscle cramps. “A new admirer, Annabel? But what has that to do with your going to England?” “Everything! He is Sir John Ferringhall—very stupid, very respectable, very egotistical. “Can Lucy and I go out for a walk?” Michelle interrupted the violin conversation petulantly.
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