” TRANSCRIBER'S NOTE: Typesetting and editing of the original book from which this e-text has been transcribed was inconsistent. He was a little embarrassed. The kindly faced landlady had failed to catch his name, and said he was a tall, handsome gentleman with a great black mustache. Twice he cleaned the old briar; still there was no improvement. He suddenly became eloquent and plausible. It isn’t sentiment but it’s horse sense. He worked afternoons, when everybody else went to sleep; he worked at night under a heat-giving light, with insects buzzing and dropping about, with a blue haze of tobacco smoke that tried to get out and could not. He said the place had gone to wrack. My concept of the reluctant vampire sprung from a rabid obsession with medieval history, especially the pre-Renaissance era of the Black Plague. Only your pa knew as how I were the one as saw to you at the wet-nurse’s cottage, and he got a-hold of me and made me bring him to you. "Is it by lettin' you go, my darlin', that I'm to airn it?" inquired Terence. The theme was a masquerade. He played for an hour—Grieg, Chopin, Rubenstein, Liszt, crashing music.
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