“You may go on with that work,” he said, “so long as you keep in harmony with things at home. Wood bore up with great fortitude against the shock, attended the inquest, delivered his evidence with composure, and gave directions afterwards for the funeral, which took place on the day but one following—Sunday. He left that arid rule clear of the least mist of refinement or delicacy. He embraced her small body in his arms, kissing her forehead over and over. She listened, her suspicions confirmed. And talking of every conceivable thing. There was no response. The conversation turned towards the subject of the Diedermayer’s many European vacations. We vampires have awesome powers of regeneration, given adequate donors.
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