Part 4 At eight that evening Miss Stanley tapped at Ann Veronica’s bedroom door. “I wonder which of us is right,” she said. Divers plans and figures were chalked upon the walls; and the spaces between them were filled up with an almanack for the year; a godly ballad, adorned with a rude wood-cut, purporting to be "The History of Chaste Susannah;" an old print of the Seven Golden Candlesticks; an abstract of the various Acts of Parliament against drinking, swearing, and all manner of profaneness; and a view of the interior of Doctor Daniel Burgess's Presbyterian meeting-house in Russell Court, with portraits of the reverend gentleman and the principal members of his flock. The phone did not ring. How did you discover I was a vampire in the first place?” “I did some research for a few weeks after you got questioned by the police. ‘It is not possible. A thing which had mystified her since childhood, a smouldering wonder why it should be, and until now she had never felt the urge to investigate. “Yet it is my last evening, and I think —if you are sure that you would like to have me—that I will risk it. She loved to be there, taking part in it all, breathing it, being it. "I have not many days,—perhaps, not many hours to live. “If I was the world I think I should have put down a crimson carpet, and asked you to say what you wanted, and generally walk over me.
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