“Nor am I now,” he answered. Their conversation hung. She was too wrapped up in the sheer joy of playing again; it had 201 been intimate, masturbatory. He was an old, skilled vampire. Trodger might not need his hair dressed, but the flagon of ale that each soldier quaffed would be welcome—once his captain had departed, thought Roding cynically. She felt surges of longing escape every corner of her flesh. But all normal humans smelled wonderful to her, even dirty ones.
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