Groping their way through one or two dark and mouldy-smelling vaults, the party ascended a flight of steps, which brought them to the hall. The soil was identical, the climate; still, they would not bear the Olympian fruit, with its purple-lined jacket and its snow-white pulp. ‘Like you?’ ‘But I am not French. But a human being who is young and clean, as you are, is apt to ennoble—or explain away. Now, will you stand aside?" "I won't," answered Jack, obstinately. Perhaps what urged her interest in the young man's direction was the dead whiteness of his face, the puffed eyelids and the bloodshot whites. She was as pale as death, but she seemed to have lost the power of movement. Sebastian drank deeply and quickly of her blood.
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