He stopped, panting hard, slamming his cane to the floor to make use of its much-needed support. Did he see him, this Monsieur Charvill?’ ‘I don’t rightly know, miss,’ confessed Kimble. Ask your own conscience. He lived on the seventh floor behind a winding set of hallways that towered over her in their grayness. He had always warned her explicitly about turning others into vampires. She was not squeamish—although the sight of the sergeant’s ominous preparations had severely tried her fortitude—but Kimble’s white face plagued her conscience. He smiled. " "The same who was here just now?" "No, Sir Rowland, a much finer boy. For a few minutes all was silent. The man’s passion became almost unbearable at the thought of losing her.
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