The portrait was more an icon than a real memory; she seemed so far away, this slender, stately woman in Edwardian clothes. e tall windows set in warm grey brick, the flight of steps up to the door and the neat black railings in front. They teased me, bullied me, excluded me from their friendship. Yet they hadn't noticed.
She shied away from people, even those who offered no harm; yet she walked boldly through a dark place that would make even the most sensible people hesitate. She glanced round to see the golden-eyed vampire following them, moving like a ghost in blank silence. Why? What have I done wrong? This was Henry's trouble; he thought life went in a straight line, he never looked to left or right. I have these feelings, I can see things I never used to be able to see.
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