Prudence shook her head. She had even tried a needle and a catheter on a victim once, but had found that the process was so frustrating and slow that she barely gained any sustenance and had done the worst thing imaginable: wasted a kill. All the influences about her worked with her own predisposition and against all the traditions of her home and upbringing to deal with the facts of life in an unabashed manner. Anna watched her from the windows, watched the carriage jolt away along the cobbled street and disappear. She resumed her on guard position, and glaring steadily at him, waited again. She had a bittersweet fragrance, like dusty books and honeysuckle. " "A terrible dream, indeed," said Jonathan thoughtfully. —BRENDON.
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