"The Dutchman was right, after all. In the adjacent apartment Ann Veronica found a middle-aged woman with a tired face under the tired hat she wore, sitting at a desk opening letters while a dusky, untidy girl of eight-or nine-and-twenty hammered industriously at a typewriter. " Animated by his insatiate desire of vengeance, he seemed to gain strength daily, —so much so, that within a fortnight after receiving his wound he was able to stir abroad. But then the features changed. It would be downright cruel to disillusion her. Something in her tone made him look up. "Now, step this way, Mr. “Want to see my fangs?” She asked.
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