Fortescue rambled round the garden with soft, propitiatory steps, the Corinthian nose upraised and his hands behind his back, pausing to look long and hard at the fruit-trees against the wall. Help—should she need it—from the natives was out of the question. A handy knife, and a good tot of something sharp to clean out the wound. ‘Parbleu,’ she uttered indignantly. Diane seemed more interested in the prestige of her violin skills than in the more sordid subject of her vampirism. You thanked me tersely, then, barely noticing my existence you went right back to your conversation! I was somewhat crushed but my spirits were lifted when the butcher revealed who your husband-to-be was. At any rate, it would be good to hear him saying the sort of things he did—perhaps now she would grasp them better—with this world-shaking secret brandishing itself about inside her head within a yard of him.
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