“I see nothing of my sister,” she said. Determined, however, not be taken with life, he held on. Ann Veronica had had some training at the Tredgold College in disentangling threads from confused statements, and she had a curious persuasion that in all this fluent muddle there was something—something real, something that signified. Hitherto she had seen it chiefly in pictures and other works of art, incidentally, and as a thing taken out of life. He had been thrilled at her attitude about the subject, which was simply not to turn others into vampires.
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