“Who took care of you after she died?” “My father. He watched her constantly, trapped her in corners and slept with his arms locking her like a human cage. She did not know herself. Annabel passed on with a strained nod to her sister, and Sir John’s bow was a miracle of icy displeasure. Then she goes to a dramatic agent. ‘Well?’ demanded Miss Froxfield, accepting a glass of lemonade proffered by a passing lackey. “Why just take her limbs? Why not poison her, like me?” “Because, if you remember, she turned me into a vampire. "Stolen by a gipsy when scarcely five years old, Constance Trenchard, after various vicissitudes, was carried to London, where she lived in great poverty, with the dregs of society.
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