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Lucy crouched by the side of the grave, her head in her hands, rocking back and forth. The odds were astounding and yet he had it bad. One’s got to be a better man than one’s father, or what is the good of successive generations? Life is rebellion, or nothing. “Nigel, Nigel,” she cried. Flattened flowers aren’t for the likes of us. “Nothing,” said Ann Veronica, and stared over her shoulder out of the window. ‘I am not a murderer. “I’m a vampire. You understand.
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