” “Do you drink blood?” He stood up. ‘Beg pardon, miss, but I’m told as how—’ She broke off, her eyes widening, her jaw dropping open. It was one of the most educational disillusionments in Ann Veronica’s career. “I confess it. It was Blueskin. “Look here, father,” she said, with a change in her voice, “suppose I won’t stand it?” He regarded her as though this was a new idea. But she did not listen long; she wanted to talk. She had grabbed! She became less and less attentive to his meditative, self-complacent fragments of talk as she told herself this.
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