Heaven will not permit the continuance of such wickedness as you practise. She seemed honestly glad to see him. With the aid of a penknife he ripped the shoulder seams and drew out the ten one-thousand dollar bills. “I’ll run, too,” she volunteered. We vampires have awesome powers of regeneration, given adequate donors. So she brought upon the stage the Reverend Henry Dolby, a preacher of means, worldly-wise and kindly, cheery and rotund, who, with his wife and daughter, had arrived at the Victoria that morning. And he had destroyed all this. She was surprised to find how stored her mind was with impressions and memories of him, how vividly she remembered his gestures and little things that he had said. She saw her life before her robbed of all generous illusions, the wrappered life unwrappered forever, vistas of dull responses, crises of makebelieve, years of exacting mutual disregard in a misty garden of fine sentiments. He carried her into his bedroom as she unfastened the tiny white buttons of his shirt.
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