“Lovelace! Lovelace!” I heard, or seemed to hear, breathed through the corridor.
“The huntress!” I exclaimed. “The authentic vampire! The incarnation of hungry sex!”
Shuddering I rose, raised the blind and leant through the open window. The world outside was unreal: it brought me no solace. The houses were insubstantial; the solidity of my own body was incommunicable to my senses; all the world was an illusion; nothing existed save the brain that had placed things there....
A cold bath early next morning did little to restore my nerves to health. My soul was sick: it was covered with indestructible dust from the vampire’s wings.
I arrived at our table before she did. Lovelace brought me food. Though his manner was calm, his face was deathly pale. Had he, like myself, been agonized through the night? I spoke to him, and he looked into my eyes distrustfully.
“I am going to Eleusis to-day,” I said. “Can you get a few sandwiches made up for me? And some fruit and a bottle of wine?”
“Yes, certainly. I will tell the head waiter. But be careful. Don’t go into any of the cottages, for fever is raging there.”
“Thanks, I won’t.... I say, Lovelace.” I spoke low, and he bent down to catch my words. “Lovelace, I say. Tell me: what is the meaning of all this—of everything? Do you not believe I am your friend?”
“But you love her!”
“Or hate her!” I exclaimed. “Which is it?”