It was just then that she came face to face with Nigel Ennison. Let—it—fall. Diane seemed more interested in the prestige of her violin skills than in the more sordid subject of her vampirism. On a small shelf near the foot of the bed stood a couple of empty phials, a cracked ewer and basin, a brown jug without a handle, a small tin coffee-pot without a spout, a saucer of rouge, a fragment of looking-glass, and a flask, labelled "Rosa Solis. ” “Well, why not?” Lady Lescelles asked, smiling.
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