“I’m a vampire. At the corner of Liquorpond Street stood the old Hampstead coach-office; and, on the night in question, a knot of hostlers, waggoners, drivers, and stable-boys was collected in the yard. Possessed, at one time, of a share in the South Sea stock, he conceived himself worth twenty thousand pounds. “Dear me!” he said. From one window the beach was always visible; from another, the stores. How am I supposed to rent an apartment when I cannot legally buy cigarettes? I couldn’t use you. Her finger-nails dug into her flesh. Miss Stanley, it was manifest, had given him Ann Veronica’s address. Why was she noting things like this? Capes seemed selfpossessed and elaborately genial and commonplace, but she knew him to be nervous by a little occasional clumsiness, by the faintest shadow of vulgarity in the urgency of his hospitality.
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