The winter of 1348 seemed to last an eternity, but the Pestilence struck in one day. Sordid; but that was not Ruth's term for it; she had no precise commentary to offer. ‘But so also it is downstairs. “Why just take her limbs? Why not poison her, like me?” “Because, if you remember, she turned me into a vampire. She could almost smell her mother’s attar of white roses and lemon verbena with the memory of the story. To tell Ruth anything, it would be necessary to tell her everything; and I cannot and you must not.
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