On a stool eight feet high sat a small boy in a faded blue cotton, his face like that of young Buddha. \"Hi Missy, have you met Lucy Albert?\" Lucy contrived a smile. ” Her urge to drink deeply of his blood was growing insane, ignited by what he had already donated. Of what was she thinking? She must rescue herself. ” She could not go on, for she was laughing and crying at the same time. His face darkened.
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