“Perhaps for me,” she added, with a sudden wistful look out of the bare high window, “a night of beginnings. Mr. He had not been successful as the world counted success; the fat bank-account, the filled waiting room of which he had once dreamed, had never materialized except in the smoke of his evening pipe. Diane seemed more interested in the prestige of her violin skills than in the more sordid subject of her vampirism. “They would spoil every chance.
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