Karl bent down to pick up the necklace from the floor, found it was a gold chain with a cross made of tightly woven hair. He never felt part of life. Washes of gold bloomed and faded as the sun tried to break through; a cart went past, the metallic echo of the horse's hooves startling in the quietness. As I said, this is no proof that a vampire was responsible, but I keep an open mind— Neville's hand shook, and he spilled whisky on the polished sideboard.
Her name was Violette and she had black hair and bore a striking resemblance to Karl. The Ilona I knew in life would not have let her existence become so hollow that her only reason for living was hatred. David said, I think it was Karl who killed them. Charlotte kissed Anne's cheek, stroked her hair.
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