As she went on, the story began to sound more and more like a recitation. They could not have called it a fatal motor accident if he had not been dead. She remembered Taber's hat. That is not reasonable. At the recollection that it was his, she seemed to fall through a thin surface, as one might fall through the crust of a lava into glowing depths. To her mind, recalling the picture of him the night before, there had been something tragic in the grim silent manner of his tippling. She had removed her hat and utterly disarranged her already unruly black locks by running agitated fingers through them. “I truly am a vampire, John. An old woman took her in.
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