He listened to the thunder of the fall now mingling with the roar of the blast; and, driven almost frantic by what he heard and saw, he pushed with all his force against the stone. "Bury her in Willesden churchyard, as she requested, on Sunday," said Jack. You forget all the mass of training and tradition and instinct that go to make him a tolerable master. Then as she lay very still, with her hands clinched and her black hair tumbled about her face, he came still closer and softly kissed the nape of her neck. To begin with, he struck her as being the most variable person she had ever encountered. “I hate you because you are the Devil! Rot in Hell!” She was shocked at her own accusation, how she had savored the words. And with his clenched hand he struck him a violent blow in the face. He had been thrilled at her attitude about the subject, which was simply not to turn others into vampires. Fame of any sort was folly and she knew better.
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