She wore a black satin dress, a little shiny at the seams, a purposeless bow of white tulle at the back of her neck, and a huge chatelaine. “He was alive at four o’clock this afternoon,” she answered, “but the doctors give little hope of his recovery. Nuns, I mean. ” Her urge to drink deeply of his blood was growing insane, ignited by what he had already donated. “I wonder why I am always hungry nowadays. Wood, meantime, had not remained idle. ‘But he must have—’ ‘Nicholas Charvill never did anything he must do,’ Mrs Sindlesham said evenly. “I shall send for a policeman,” Anna said, “directly my maid answers the bell— unless you choose to go before.
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