“My word holds,” she said. On taxing his recollection, the whole circumstance rushed to mind with painful distinctness. I somehow understood. “Want to see my fangs?” She asked. "Don't you perceive, my dear Mrs. Melusine ripped strips off her under-petticoats and fashioned a pad, which she bandaged as tightly as she could over the wound, working swiftly, unperturbed by the gore. He was completely, devastatingly handsome.
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